


Heavens to Betsy

by cincoflex



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Someone needs to keep a tight rein on the chief of Surgery; Captain Rydersen is just the woman for the job.





	1. Chapter 1

Heavens to Betsy

_Hawkeye_

I _definitely_ noticed when she arrived. I mean we ALL did—every male with a working pulse noticed, believe me and I’m even including Charles, who generally won’t admit he even _has_ a pulse. Comes with all that sluggish blue blood of his, but I digress. Here at the 4077th I absolutely noticed when the tall curvy blonde in glasses climbed out of the jeep and looked around. Mostly what I noticed was listed in that previous statement but I also picked up on the captain’s bars somewhere above and to the outskirts of an amazing chest.

It had been a while since I’d gotten up close and personal with anything even fractionally that tempting so I sauntered out in my best welcome wagon fashion, trying to make eye contact because first impressions and all that but it wasn’t easy. (I’d say it was hard but that’s implied, what with the aforementioned libido and all.)

“Captain, welcome to our little corner of Post-conflict Management. I hope you brought your own gauze with you.” Witty and concise, that’s me. I smiled too, hoping that would win her over before anybody else moved in.

She looked at me in a way I haven’t been looked at since my induction: overly serious, assessing me like a 4H entry; I half-expected her to ask me to open my mouth so she could check my teeth. Hell, all she was missing was a clipboard at that point. Then she _almost_ smiled back. 

Just a little quirk at the corner of her mouth but enough to let me know she wasn’t one of the regular Army clowns who pass through here on a depressingly regular basis. That helped.

“Tell me who you are,” she murmured, pushing up her glasses and locking gazes with me. Ash blonde, straight hair like Veronica Lake. _Great_ eyes behind those lenses, soft and blue.

“Hawkeye Pierce,” I let her know. “Surgeon, distiller, dashing man about town.”

One eyebrow went up and I felt a little shiver at that. Don’t know why—I work hard for my reputation; it’s one of the few things I DO work on.

“Of course,” she murmured in tone to go with the eyebrow. “THE Hawkeye Pierce. Three people have already warned me about you.”

“Only three?” I shot back. “I’m slipping.”

“One of them WAS a general,” the blonde assured me and I wondered which one. Before I could start guessing, she added, “Captain Rydersen, nurse anesthetist, here from Tokyo General. Tell me, which way to Colonel Potter’s office?”

“Let me be your guide,” I offered, giving her another of my winning smiles. 

“If you did that you’d have to go in front of me,” she pointed out, “I think you’d better just walk beside me instead.”

“Oh you literalist,” I quipped playfully, “If you insist.”

“I _do_ that quite often,” the captain assured me, turning those baby blues my way again. “Insist, that is.”

Something in her eyes made me tingle and I chalked it up to chemistry of the hormonal sort.

“You don’t say?” we started to stroll towards Potter’s tent and even though she was shorter than I was she set the pace, determined little minx.

I got the door for Captain Rydersen, just to prove I had manners and she gave me another one of those assessing looks. 

“You know, I’m seriously tempted to make you my pet project,” she told me.

“For the science fair? FFA? Girl Scouts?” I was being glib because now I was close enough to smell her perfume and it was something I wouldn’t mind wearing myself via skin to skin contact.

“For all the wrong reasons,” she told me and slipped inside, leaving me trying to figure that one out.

I made my way back to home and libation, not exactly sure about Captain Rydersen but definitely intrigued. She had something there—a couple of somethings for starters—but replaying the encounter I wasn’t exactly sure she’d succumbed to my charm. Then again, she hadn’t told me I was a cad and to leave her alone either so I would take that win and wash it down with a little gin. After all gentlemen prefer blondes. So do bums like me when it comes down to it, Hot Lips excepted of course.

_Betsy ___

__I’d been warned all right, and so I wasn’t surprised to be approached right off the tailgate of the jeep. My friend Allison had been the first to give me the heads up._ _

__“He’s tall, dark and corny,” she’d told me. “Can’t miss him: smirks a lot, kind of witty, but a depressing drunk. He’ll try to sweep you off your feet, so steer clear unless you want to be another notch on his cot leg, Betsy.”_ _

__And Junie had chimed in too. “Be prepared to put up with a lot of bad puns. Swear to God he’s a class clown who never gave up the habit. After a few hours in the OR it really starts to grate on your nerves. Try not to get assigned to his table or he’ll expect you to grin at every damned thing he says.”_ _

__Fair warnings and so far, accurate. The last had come from General St. George, who’d given me quick opinions on all the staff here. After assuring me I’d love the old war horse in command and should give the head nurse her due respect, he’d added, “Watch out of the Chief Surgeon though; he’s an opinionated pain in the ass. If he wasn’t brilliant with a scalpel he’d have been discharged ages ago.”_ _

__It’s interesting how all three opinions gave a pretty accurate picture of the lanky Lothario in the bathrobe. Still, I put him to the test with my first words and he followed through, which was interesting. I checked twice more, sure he’d balk or react or try to assert himself but no, all three times he responded exactly as directed, which was tentatively intriguing. It’s been a long time since I’ve found anyone giving off the right vibes with the potential for something more._ _

__Honestly? I wasn’t joking when I told him I insist. I do, particularly in getting my own way. I’m not selfish or rude or pushy, but I’m not sure what to call it. My aunt used to say it was being a satin bitch. “Women like us, Bets, we’re born with the upper hand. And trust me, the world is full of men who adore that. You’re a queen, so make them treat you like one.”_ _

__So yeah, it’s my nature. I was blessed with a good frame and good hair. Can’t do anything about the eyes but that’s okay too. I’ve always had my fair share of taunts about four-eyes and it doesn’t bother me anymore. Sometimes my glasses are great camouflage and they cut down on passes coming my way. Makes it easier to make friends too._ _

__I introduced myself to Colonel Potter who checked my transfer, asked how St. George was doing and welcomed me to the 4077th all within three sentences. He directed the company clerk to take me to the Head Nurse’s tent and I met Major Houlihan who gave me the once over and asked some pretty direct questions._ _

__“Do you drink, Captain Rydersen?”_ _

__“No ma’am.”_ _

__“Good. Do you gamble, or sleep around?”_ _

__I made myself look a little shocked. “No Ma’am.”_ _

__“Well you’re going to be working with a lot of people who _do_ , Captain. It’s a rougher sort of life this close to the front and you need to be prepared for it. Our hours are unpredictable and the work overwhelming at times. People blow off steam in all sorts of ways, but by God the 4077th lives up to our motto, ‘best care anywhere,’ got that?”_ _

__“Yes Ma’am.”_ _

__She gave me sort of a pitying look. “Any questions?”_ _

__“Not yet. I would like to look over the layout of your theater and talk to the other NAs as soon as possible.”_ _

__She took me around to meet the other nurses and NAs. I knew all three of them already—we anesthetists are small group overall and I felt better knowing I could count on Gretchen, Sharon, and Paula to show me the ropes. Houlihan left me with them and they took me to the OR so I could get a feel for the place._ _

__It was empty, but I walked around trying to visualize what it was like with each table occupied and it got a lot smaller. I noted that the stools next to the 685 machines were pretty old too, and asked about it._ _

__“Low priority,” Sharon sighed. “We’ve been asking for new ones but it’s not anywhere near the top of the list. The Major’s been trying though.”_ _

__I nodded. “I think I know who to push. What about the cutters?”_ _

__“Potter’s great,” Gretchen chirped. “Values his gas passer. Hunnicutt’s good too, no problems with him.”_ _

__“Winchester needs his table raised once in a while,” Paula sighed, “and he wants the vitals about ever fifteen if the assisting doesn’t do it. He’s a little big, too. I’ve been stepped on a few times but he always apologizes.”_ _

__“And Pierce?” I asked. All three girls rolled their eyes, but smiled._ _

__“Flirty but once we get rolling he forgets we’re there unless there’s an issue or the vitals drop. Also faster than the other three so you need to keep an eye on him.”_ _

__I nodded; oh I was _definitely_ going to do that._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Hawkeye

So there was a good little buzz for a while about the new girl, and I managed to find out her first name—Betsy—and her marital status—single—but nobody seemed to know more than that. Our gas passers here are a quiet little group, which I believe is a side effect of working with thiopental and succinylcholine and other fun inhalants. 

I talked BJ into a little walk past the showers at the appropriate hour so I could see our newest resident in something other than olive drab. He was willing to go; Beej is loyal to Peg beyond all human male understanding but he’s not adverse to platonic girl-watching on the gentle guise of keeping me out of trouble. I get to comment, he gets to either roll his eyes or grin in reaction, which is pretty much par for us. We paced ourselves and low and behold managed to intersect the parade of pulchritudinous personal hygiene pretties on their way to ablutions I could only fantasize about. 

Most of them ignored me and my appreciative nods, including Nurse Miller, AKA the girl to most recently dump me. It was gentle and probably nicer than I deserved but I still felt a pang as she walked by, looking the other way. Ah well, hips in the night, as it were. And then came Sweet Betsy sans Pike, wrapped in a green kimono that set off her curves ever so nicely. She was carrying a little basket and looking at her watch. I gave her a wave. “Good morning Captain oh my Captain!”

She slowed and turned towards us, gliding over and I was impressed with her poise given she was a little under-dressed at the moment, rahrrr! When she reached up I introduced BJ, who gave her one of his standard welcoming smiles.

“Pleased to meet you,” she told him, and then turned to me. “Tell me, are you busy at the moment, Captain Pierce?”

“Hawkeye,” I corrected her, “And actually I have a free slot on my dance card at the moment.”

“Lovely, please carry this for me then.” And just like that I had the basket in my hands. I wasn’t sure I appreciated being made into her beast of burden and was about to say so but she laid a finger on my lips. “I know, it’s pushy of me but it’s such a nice excuse to bring you along, isn’t it?”

And how could I object to that, really? She gave me a wink, waved to BJ who was smirking and off we went. I know I was still a little put out, but when she linked her arm with mine and I got another whiff of that perfume I decided to be magnanimous. “So what’s a nice girl like you doing bossing someone like me around?”

“It’s a gift,” she told me. “I like the way you keep that anger simmering on the back burner, and nobody should have eyes so soulfully, sinfully blue.”

“What?” Not my wittiest response but she’d thrown me for a loop. “I’m not angry.”

“Sure you are,” came her reply. “It’s one of your legendary qualities, Ben. And before you get feisty about that, I’m calling you Ben and not Hawkeye because this is between us.”

I looked at her again, discomfited. Not a word I use often but this situation was strange and getting stranger. “Well, _Betsy_ , I’m not sure where you’re getting your information from but I’m not angry. Now _confused_ would fit, but I think that’s understandable given how bizarre this little stroll is getting.”

“I’m sorry, was I keeping you from something important?” she asked, leaning closer to me. Frankly it was hard to keep my train of thought when she did that. I’m not sure if it was the combination of glasses and soft voice or whether I was just a sucker for flattery.

“Yes, I’ve got my three o’clock yodeling lesson followed by a quick nine holes with Truman and his cabinet before settling down to serious liver poisoning from six to nine. So much frivolity, so little time you know.”

“Such a whirl of social activity and yet you found time to gallantly carry my delicates,” Betsy murmured. “Thank you, Ben. Nobody’s done anything that nice for me in a very long time.”

“You’re welcome,” I tried to huff but it didn’t come out that way. I looked down in the basket and found myself slightly speechless in the way that only Frederick’s of Hollywood can make a man. 

I may have actually wheezed a little.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she leaned close to me as she took the basket from my nerveless fingers. “Good lingerie is like barbed wire; while it safeguards the property it doesn’t obstruct the view.” Betsy winked again and sauntered into the showers leaving me to fight with blood rushing to places other than my head. To very _specific_ places not for mentioning in mixed company per se so I did what any male in my situation would do: shoved my fists deep into my pockets and headed for the latrines.

Not my preferred local for erotic relief but I wasn’t about to head back to the swamp to pollute myself. Not that it hasn’t happened there after dark of course. There’s an unwritten rule among men that noises after the lights are out don’t get mentioned, unless it’s flatulence. Nothing bonds you with your tent mates like trumpet duets in the dark.

In any case I managed some solitude and within several saliva slicked minutes later found myself on the shameless verge of a bountiful tribute to my newest nurse anesthetist’s underwear. 

Isn’t love grand?

Betsy

My evil scheme was working perfectly. I’ve always wanted to say that, but honestly, Captain Pierce was fast becoming lanky putty in my hands. I pride myself in spotting just the right sort of man to entice; I’ve learned the hard way about that. 

And he was handsome in his own way, I can’t deny that.   
Between the challenge of luring him in and the sorrow deep in those blue eyes, I knew I was going to have my hands full. But that was good. It had been a long time since Phillipe, and he would have wanted me to be happy. I probably would always have his memory in the corner of my heart but it had been nearly three years since his death and time does move on.

Naturally I ended up in the shower stall next to Helene Miller. This wasn’t an accident on my part; I wanted to be sure of a few things I’d heard so I made small talk and the conversation drifted around to the doctors, the way it generally does. 

“Winchester’s a dyed in the wool snob, bleah. And nobody gets _anywhere_ with BJ,” Helene told me with a sigh. “Makes him all the more attractive if you ask me.”

“I know what you mean,” I nodded as I worked my razor along my shin. “Still, he and his buddy watched us go by.”

She rolled her eyes so hard at this I was sure she’d peeked at her own brain. “Hawkeye, yeah. He’s the Casanova around here and I just cut him loose in fact. Frankly I need _more_ than cocktails and quickies these days.”

“Not husband material?” I ventured, moving to the other leg and lathering up.

“Not even _boyfriend_ material,” Helene groused. “For him a relationship is just an emotional version of the draft.”

“Ohh, too bad,” I let myself sigh a little. “I thought he was flirting with me.”

“He _was_ ,” Helene snickered, “and you’re welcome to him, even though it won’t last. Have fun; Hawkeye’s pretty good in the sack, but keep writing to your sweetie back home.”

I pretended to look embarrassed and she laughed, this time in a friendlier way. “Oh man he’s going to go after you like a fly to honey. Just don’t get your heart broken, you hear me?”

I certainly wasn’t planning on it, but I ducked my head and looked as shy as I could. Mission accomplished—I had the former girlfriend’s support. That would make it easier to keep up my good work.

The next step was to take a look at the other men in camp—at least the ones I was allowed to fraternize with. In my time with the Army I’d learned it was better to figure out the machismo pecking order as quickly as possible and work it to my advantage and clearly the alpha male at the 4077th was Sherman Potter, who hardly had to raise his voice to get people to do things. That was good; when the top dog really WAS the top dog, things ran much more smoothly. 

Second in command was a little harder to suss out. I could see Charles Winchester _wanted_ to be and assumed he _was_ because of his rank, but it didn’t ring true. If—God forbid-- Potter were to drop dead, the entire camp would look to . . . Hawkeye Pierce. Winchester might have the oak leaves but Pierce had the obvious seniority. That was interesting because it was also clear to me that he didn’t _want_ it . . . but he wouldn’t give to Winchester willingly either. Ben Pierce was a sorely conflicted man that way. It meant he was in a good place to have someone take some of that worry off his lean shoulders. 

And that was what I found so damned attractive about him.

In the meantime I poked around the camp to get the layout of the place, making it a point to ask questions and smile. There wasn’t a lot to it although the place was spread out, and I could tell where more popular hangouts were, along with a few potentially private places as well. Nobody seemed too surprised when the girl with glasses poked around the library and peeked into the kitchens. Eventually I made my way back to the hospital itself, wondering which doctor I’d be working with first. I didn’t want it to be Pierce just yet—I’d rather have a chance to see him in action before I did anything else.

And the anticipation was going to be sweet.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hawkeye_

So I realized that there was something juuust a little strange and sensually intriguing about Betsy Rydersen but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’m not the sort of guy who gets along with bossy women. Exhibit A: Margaret. She and I get along like oil and water most of the time, and it’s only a heavy duty shaking up that gets us anywhere near a working salad dressing. Under it all yes I respect her and appreciate her but I don’t like being ordered around.

Which is _also_ why I and the United States Army don’t get along. That’s on top of their habit of killing people and sending me those who didn’t get killed but now have their insides dangling around their outsides. I don’t like being told what to do and never have. Not when I was a kid, certainly not when I was a civilian and definitely not now that I’m at the beck and call of Uncle Sam. I am my own man despite what anyone else thinks. It’s part of what keeps me sane.

That and booze and women. The nurses around here will vouch that while I’m a swell guy and a peachy dancer, I’m not the type to accept the yoke. If Sidney was here he’d probably dredge up some incident in my past where I was burned badly in some ancient _(thanks Carlye)_ romance and now keep a degree of emotional aloofness but I’d say he was full of whatever passes for bologna these days. Probably spam.

My point is, I like my bachelorhood. I like quick uncomplicated sessions of rounding the bases in the supply closet with women in the same frame of mind. There’s a war on; who has _time_ to get serious? 

Since most people around here are somewhat like-minded, BJ being the boring exception, I’ve got company and up to now, my pick of the nurses. But for some reason I can’t quite fathom, I’m finding myself intrigued by someone who doesn’t fit the mold. And it’s annoying the daylights out of me.

I suppose the smart thing would be to ignore her, but in a camp this small that’s hard to do. Everybody runs into everybody at some point: Mess tent, showers, OR. We’re one big family if not always a happy one. And I’ll admit there’s part of me that doesn’t want to ignore her, not with those curves and that hair and damn it, those _glasses._

They shouldn’t do things to me. Most of the women I’ve known who wear glasses lean to the nebbish librarian side. In the movies that always means they become sex goddesses when you take them off, but I’ve found that in real life all it does is make them squinty and blind. That can be fun too in the right setting but with Rydersen I suspect the stereotype is true, which is keeping me up at night.

After noon we received our newest delivery of kids unfortunate enough to be in the line of fire, I was curious to see if I’d be paired with our newest gas passer but that honor went to BJ instead. They took the table front of me so I had a good view of my tent mate’s derriere and a profile of Our Lady of the Anesthesia perched on her stool. I couldn’t stare openly, not with fresh courses of shattered entrails being delivered to my table on a regular schedule but I did manage to get several glances in during the course of the day. 

She was good. I will give her that; whatever else was going on with Rydersen she did know how to put her patients under and keep them steady, whether it was mask or line. Even on that wobbly stool she managed the job smoothly. My own this time was Paula; reliable but not always quick at the shift from patient to patient. I admit I was a little envious of BJ.

After the last kid was hemmed up just after sunset, I lingered at the sinks, hoping to catch Rydersen when she came to scrub down, and did. At that point we were alone and she swerved around me to the far faucet, smirking.

“Okay, you can run an Ohio pig with the best of them,” I grudgingly admitted to her. “Point in your favor.”

“Is _that_ what you were thinking about the whole time you were sneaking peeks at me?” She murmured, running her hands under the water as I watched.

“Mostly,” I shot back, happier to be on the banter level. This I could do, this back and forth thing. I had it down to an art. “What were _you_ thinking about?”

I expected something about how overwhelming the surgery was, or about the wobbly stool but no, she just looked over the top of those glasses of hers at me innocently.

“About what you sound like when you climax. I’m guessing you’re somewhere between a moaner and a growler--you just have that _look,_ Ben.”

_Betsy_

Bingo. He gaped at me, stunned, and I wanted to laugh because I don’t think this man had been surprised in a very long time. Before he could recover, I pulled a towel out and dried my hands, adding, “None of my business of course, but you _did_ ask.”

“Jeeesus,” I heard him mutter. It was fun to watch him try to figure out a good comeback, but before he could I slipped out, feeling smug. Mentally I counted in my head— _three, two, one_ \---and there he was at my elbow, trying to swivel into my path.

“Okay, I don’t know what game you’re playing but . . . _don’t_!” He told me, spluttering.

And here’s where the glasses came in handy again; I looked through them as wide-eyed as I could. “You asked a question and I answered it. Sure it wasn’t particularly polite for me to be daydreaming about your sensuality but I wasn’t going to _lie,_ either.”

“You,” he glared at me, on the verge of pointing a finger. “Are _bold._ And it’s weird. Girls aren’t supposed to just throw statements out like that. It’s unnerving and wrong and—”

“—arousing?”

“Yes! I mean _no!_ Now look what you’ve done!” he was genuinely flustered now, spots of color high on his cheekbones. “The point is that’s not something you _say_ to a guy!”

“But,” I pushed up my glasses. “It’s the truth, Ben. I’m sure you’re . . . big enough to handle the truth.”

And again he did that frustrated little shift on the balls of his feet that let me know my words were definitely hitting him. I gave a sigh and added, “I’m sorry you’re so bothered by the idea of me thinking about your body. I’ll try not to do it around you, all right?”

“I’m not bothered. Bothered is the wrong word. I’m looking for _disturbed_ ,” he told me. I could feel the erotic tension radiating off him now and suspected if I looked down between us . . . 

“Not my intention,” I fibbed. “Look, I will put _all_ thoughts of you masturbating aside, all right? Friends?” I held out my hand.

Ben Pierce looked at my extended grip as if he wanted to either bite it or kiss it. Reluctantly he moved to shake, and the moment his palm pressed to mine I felt the heat seep against my skin. 

Burning up.

I said nothing. He said nothing. We kept holding hands long after we should have let go.

Then I lowered my voice, keeping to steady and soft. “I have to let go, Ben. Your hand feels good in mine but I need to go to bed and so do you.”

He let go but didn’t step back, and I took a moment to enjoy that blue gaze of his. Calmer now; I think just being allowed to touch me helped.

“What the hell IS is about you?” he muttered. “Forget a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, we have Betsy Rydersen in our midst.”

“I’m not hard to figure out,” I told him. “Hell I’m not even very interesting. Gretchen is prettier and Helene has great dimples. I’m just a woman bold enough to admit I think about you pleasuring yourself even though I promised not to.”

“Gah! You’re doing it _again_!” he hissed, but licked his lips as well.

“Sorry, sorry it’s just . . . is that _the_ hand?”

“Rydersen!” this time I heard a tinge of humor in the exasperation.

“Duly noted,” I told him with a quick wink and stepped away to catch my breath as I headed for the tent I shared. I needed the coolness of the night air for my own face at this point and it was hard not to gloat at how well things were going.

Men would say I was being a tease, but my aunt would assure me that it wasn’t precisely true. I’d told the truth, and if Ben Pierce couldn’t handle it, that was his hardship. I was betting he was headed somewhere private and that his little erotic session would be all the more charged because he’d be thinking of _me_ thinking of _him._

And that was nice because for a little while at least he’d be distracted and having some genuine pleasure. A small gift I guess, but because I’d told the truth, an honest one. At some point I’d find out if he was a moaner or a growler but for tonight it would have to stay a mystery.

For now.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hawkeye_

The first thing I did after purging my frustrations—which turned out pretty fantastic to be honest—was to go and needle Radar. I wanted info on Captain Rydersen and figured if I wheedled and bribed the tiny keeper of the filing cabinets I’d have some insight into this woman. They say knowledge is power, and they also say forewarned is forearmed, which would come in handy for table tennis. I digress—I bypassed all subtlety and went for the direct approach.

“I want to look at Captain Rydersen’s files.”

“I can’t do that sir,” Radar mumbled back at me, looking like a chipmunk caught in a jeep’s headlights. “Those are confidential!”

“No they’re not. I’m Chief of Surgery and I have a right to know who’s working in my OR,” I bluffed, drawing myself up. Sort of a wasted effort with Radar since I tower over him even when I’m sitting down.

“I thought _Colonel Potter_ was in charge,” he attempted in a half-hearted attempt to block the filing cabinet with his pudgy little body.

“It’s called chain of command,” I bluffed, reaching around him. “Potter’s in charge of the _camp_ , and _I’m_ in charge of the OR.”

“And because the OR is _in_ the camp, Potter is in charge of _all_ of it,” came the rumble of a voice that cut through the strange little tango Radar and I were doing. “Pierce, stop dancing around my clerk like a scarecrow in a high wind. What the hell do you want?”

Trying to recover my dignity after being called down was tough but I tried my best wounded look. “I want to check the records on our newest NA.”

“Radar, you’re dismissed. Pierce, in my office,” came the order. Radar darted out like a freed bunny and I slunk in after Potter. Moments like this always brought back memories of the principal’s office without the phone call home or suspension.

Not that I’m at ALL familiar with that process.

“What’s all this about?” Potter growled at me as he settled behind his desk. I slouched against the wall because I didn’t want to meet his eyes. 

“Rydersen. I’m curious about her . . . qualifications.” That sounded reasonable to me. Logical even. A professional sort of question that any concerned Chief of Surgery might ask.

“Buffalo cookies!” Potter snorted and it almost sounded like an order to a waitress. “You know as well as I do that I’d never let anyone set foot in that OR who didn’t have my full confidence, Rydersen included. What’s this _really_ about, Pierce?”

I pushed myself off the wall and started pacing. “I don’t know. Something about this woman is . . . off. She _bugs_ me.”

When I glanced at Potter the corner of his mouth was curling up. “Is that so? Not succumbing to your usual bulldozer charm is she?”

“No it’s not like that!” I tried to bluster. “That is, she’s . . .” I waved an arm, “. . . pushy.”

Now I got the double lens glare. Potter’s killed lesser men with that look. “Pushy. In what way?”

“She . . .” I scrambled for an example. “She makes me _do_ things for her. Carry her stuff.”

Now one of Potter’s eyebrows went up and I knew I’d lost whatever argument I had. He was Officially Amused.

“Is that a fact? Got some sort of mind control over you does she?” he gave a little sigh. “Look son, it may come as a surprise to you but there are millions of gals on this planet and they all have different personalities. Sad to say that a percentage is going to rub you the wrong way and worse, you have to accept that.”

“She doesn’t rub me the wrong way,” I interjected before I could think about what I was saying. “I just want to figure out how she _does_ it. I don’t like being manipulated.”

Potter’s mouth curled again. “Physician, heal thyself.”

I glared at him, opened my mouth, and for once didn’t say anything. 

Potter smirked. “So you’ve got a gal who’s making you jump through a hoop or two. Maybe you need to figure out what bugs you more—the fact that you know it, or maybe that you _like_ it. Dismissed.”

I left, hands in my pockets and let my feet take me to the Officer’s Club, sullenly sprawling on a stool and brooding over my drink. Potter’s remarks hit home; I do have a tendency to be a tad ruthless in the cherchez of les femme. But I don’t force anyone to go out with me or do anything else with me. I can pride myself on that at the very least. I’ve never gone where I’m not wanted in the romance department and I can take no for an answer.

No should be my answer for Betsy Rydersen, I figured after two drinks. There were plenty of nurses in the sea. One if by land maybe two if by sea, and by sea I meant in camp of course. I could simply ride out Rydersen. Be the Paul Revere of the 4077th, sounding the alarm about nurse anthasthesiatists . . . anesthethtics . . . NAs who say and do things that twist the words around. I had two more drinks and was kindly asked to take my recitation of Longfellow outside.

I wasn’t completely drunk yet—a situation I planned to rectify once I got back to the swamp—just in that comfortably loose zone where I would apologize to inanimate objects when I bumped into them. While my feet were headed towards home, the rest of me listed in another direction, taking me towards the nurse’s tents and particularly the last one in the row, where my nursie nemesis was probably in slumber, but---

Not for long.

_Betsy_

I’d just gotten to sleep and had been slipping into a dream when I was rudely brought back into wakefulness by the loud and strange sound of someone reciting poetry outside the tent. Some of the other nurses stirred, and as I listened I figured out it was Pierce and for some damned reason he was bawling out _The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere_ with twisted stanzas that declared, “One if by land and two if by sea when added together will always make three! Ready to Rydersen spread the alarm, to keep all the surgeons from terrible harm!”

“That’s _your_ name, _you_ go deal with him,” one of the nurses grunted at me, so I rose, wrapped up in my robe and stepped out, ready to confront my inappropriate poet. The minute he saw me he stopped and swayed a bit, looking a tiny bit chagrined before puffing himself up.

“I’m _on_ to you,” he told me with addled confidence, pointing. “You and your feminine wilesies. You’re bossing me around and it ends. Here.”

“Good idea,” I told him and moved closer. The fumes were pretty strong but I’m used to vapors in my line of work. I looked up at Pierce, trying to judge how drunk he was. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he assured me. “I have alerted every Middlesex village and farm about this, you know.”

“Clearly,” I sighed. “Tell you what; the word has echoed evermore, and maybe it’s time you went to bed, Ben. Would it be all right if I helped you do that?”

“Middlesex. What IS a Middlesex?” he mumbled, letting me take his arm. “Is it the sex between a village and a farm?”

“Good question,” I told him, leading him away from my tent and ignoring some of the muffled giggling there. “Next time I run into Bill Longfellow I’ll ask.”

“Maybe it’s just sex in the middle of a poem,” Pierce went on, clearly bothered by this issue. “The climax as it were.”

“Revere is riding a horse through town and yelling,” I pointed out, steering my companion towards the structure ahead of us. “That’s not very erotic.”

“Oh contraire,” Pierce told me. “Damn, I’ve always wanted to use that. Oh contrairrrrrre, Betsy Rydersen. _Sexy_ Betsy Rydersen. Horses are Freudian you know. Slymbolic of doing the deed. Hence the term ‘horsing around.’”

“And hung like a horse,” I couldn’t help but add, amused at how he grinned at that. 

“You made a dick joke,” he observed, batting his eyes. “How did _that_ happen?”

“You dangled the opportunity in front of me. Come on, in you go,” I steered him to and eventually through the door of the Surgeon’s tent. Neither of the other occupants stirred so I assumed that Pierce coming in drunk was a regular occurrence. 

Sad, that.

Tiredly Pierce plopped onto the cot and I bent to undo the laces of his boots while he blearily watched me in the semidarkness. “So you’re going to stop bossing me around?”

“Shhhh, lie down and close your eyes,” I told him quietly, tugging each boot off. “You’re tired and you need sleep, Ben.”

“My ride is through,” he mumbled, “The colonies are safe,” and slumped over into the canvas trough of the cot. I tucked a blanket around him, and took a moment to set a glass of water and a few aspirin on the little camp table before stroking his bangs.

“I’m not sure if you’ll remember this in the morning but for what it’s worth, no, I’m going to _keep_ bossing you around,” I murmured under my breath to him. “You’re just going to have to figure out how to deal with it, Ben.”

The only answer from him was a light snore, so I let myself out and headed back to my own tent, hoping that everyone there had fallen asleep again in the meantime. 

I was touched, to be honest. He’d gotten frustrated, dealt with it in what seemed to be a habitual manner, but in the end he’d come back to me. Sure he thought it was a confrontation but all I saw was a vulnerable man who allowed me—trusted me-- to take care of him.

If I had been the one to get drunk I had the gut feeling he would have done the same for me. There would have been more jokes, mostly at my expense but I suspected that if it came down to it, the caring man inside the joker’s persona would have come through in the end. 

Well he’d been doing that for the last few years and now it was time for someone to take care of _him_ , I decided, curious to see how he’d respond to that. Thinking hard about my next step, I managed to drop off to sleep once more.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hawkeye_

When the sandpaper I laughingly call my eyelids scraped my corneas upon opening I admit I whimpered. It was a sunny day, bright and warm and I hated it with every fiber of my being, frankly. The physical residue of a hangover is what sucks the joy out of drinking, so I took my time sitting up. 

Saw the water and the aspirin. Took the medicine, drank the water. Realized somebody set this out for me.

Now I live with two medical professionals here. Two men trained in the art of saving lives and keeping men healthy. Unfortunately neither one of them is generally the sort to be considerate of my well-being so that meant that my benefactor was actually a benefactress.

And _that_ , ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was not what I wanted to know.

I don’t _need_ anyone taking care of me. I’ve been coping with the big bad world for a good long time now and doing just fine thank you very much. And while I whine a little . . . well a _lot_ , actually, I don’t want or need anyone’s tender sympathy. Especially someone who got me home, got my boots off and laid out meds for me. I would have stumbled in on my own just fine. Done it before, can do it again, don’t need a pitying four-eyed lady with a lamp to make sure I make it to my own bunk.

In case you missed it, I was in a viciously shitty mood, and only half of it was because of the throbbing in my head. I forced myself to grab clean clothes and headed for the showers because hot water would help and give me some time to think of the perfect cutting remark for Captain ‘I’m such a good nurse’ Rydersen and her travelling aspirin bottle.

Stripped down, made it to a stall and turned on the water. Stuck my face in it and started to feel a little better.

“Quite the recitation you gave last night,” That was Beej, making his way in. 

I grunted.

“Was it required on the East Coast? Learning Longfellow by heart, I mean,” he persisted. “Because that’s one hell of a lot of stanzas.”

“It was either that or Wreck of the Hesperus, and that one makes me seasick,” I muttered. “Pass the soap.”

BJ did and for a while I thought I’d get to shower in peace but right after he rinsed off he spoke up once more. “So are you going to admit you _like_ her yet?”

I scowled. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer but if I did it would be hell _no_.”

“That’s pretty ungrateful,” he observed, toweling off. 

“I _am_ ungrateful. She bugs the hell out of me and in the words of the immortal Garbo, I want to be left _alone_ ,” I snapped.

“Suit yourself,” BJ shrugged, “but you’re not going to win friends and influence people with that attitude.”

“Since when did you switch sides in the battle of the sexes?” I wanted to know. “Being nice to someone doesn’t automatically make them good, you know. Sometimes it’s just flat-out manipulation.”

“Maybe,” BJ agreed. “But I can’t help but wonder what she’s getting out of it. It’s not like you can offer her a promotion or a career boost, right? Is it possible that she might, you know, actually _like_ you?”

“I don’t _want_ to be liked!” Maybe I was getting a little loud but I felt justified in it.

“Well you’re off to a great start, Hawk. Mind giving me my soap back? I don’t want your cooties on it.” BJ said it lightly but even in my grouchy state I could tell I’d gotten his back up. The problem was there didn’t seem any way to de-escalate it without capitulation and I wasn’t about to do that, not even for Beej. I tossed him the soap and turned away.

Yeah it was a great morning so far.

After my shower I decided I’d have it out with Rydersen once and for all. I’d hunt her down, tell her to keep away and that would be that. Frank and blunt, which is not a law firm by the way. Stuck my head in the mess tent, not there. Nor was she in her own tent, the post-op ward, the latrines (don’t ask how I worked that out) or the supply tent. 

She also wasn’t at the officer’s club or Rosie’s or with Potter so that narrowed it down even further. Once I’d peeked around the kitchens and motor pool that left the one place I should have checked first: the library.

Of course. I looked in and around the shelves, breathing in that lovely canvas mildew and leather scent, the sunshine filtering everything with a little green. There she was, curled up in a folding chair, rubbing her left shoulder and focused on the book in her lap.

I cleared my throat but she didn’t look up.  
“What do you need, Ben?”

“ _First_ of all you to stop calling me that,” I announced snidely. “To all and sundry I’m Hawkeye, named after the main character in the only book my father ever read.”

“Then by rights I could call you Natty Bumppo, or Pathfinder if I wanted,” she murmured without even looking at me. “And if your father was a doctor too, then between you and me, he’s probably read more than a single book. Look, I’m not in a great mood right now and if you’re here to just rant at me again, I’ll pass.”

_Betsy_

I’d slept wrong on my bad shoulder and was trying to distract myself with a little inspiration from H. Ryder Haggard; She was always one of my favorites despite how dated the writing style was. When I’d first inspected the library I’d seen it on one of the shelves and thought it might be fun for a quick re-read as I waited for the aspirin to kick in.

I wanted to take something stronger but didn’t dare, not with the chance that I’d have to work at any given moment. That’s the trade-off and today I regretted it a little. Something in my tone must have made it through Ben’s self-righteousness because he looked at me. Or at my shoulder, rather, reaching out a hand for it.

“What is it?”

“Muscle and nerve damage. Nothing debilitating but painful,” I told him, shifting away from his touch. The move made me hiss a little and he squatted, shifting into doctor mode instantly. 

“Betsy . . .”

“I took aspirin,” I assured him, not feeling very reassured at all.

“So did _I_ ,” he muttered. “Will you let me see? I _am_ a doctor, despite your doubts I’m sure.”

I looked him over. Ben was still a bit haggard from the night before but I didn’t see anything in his expression but concern. Moment of trust and I figured it was time to give a little back.

“Okay. But it’s not pretty,” I warned him, unbuttoning my shirt to slip it off my shoulder.

“I’ve seen scars before,” he tried to make me smile. “Even created a few myself so I’m sure . . . . Holy FUCK!”

I wanted to laugh; he was so wide-eyed at the moment, so utterly at a loss for words but hey, when you’ve been clawed by a tiger and lived to tell the tale it can be startling.

“What the HELL did this to you?” he demanded tersely, running cool fingers over the white scarred grooves along my shoulder. 

“A Bengal tiger named Princess,” I told him. “I was a little too close to the bars of the car she was in and she took a swipe at me. Got me pretty good but the vet and the trainer were there so I didn’t get pulled any closer. I was so skinny back then she could have dragged me _right_ through the bars if she wanted to.”

Ben was still focused, his touch very light on the ridges. “Unbelievable. A tiger! Where are you from, Bhutan?”

“Nope. I’m from Gibsonton Florida,” I sighed. “A little town on the west side of the state hardly anyone knows about.”

I’ll give him credit; he figured it out pretty quickly. “Circuses. They winter over in Florida, right?”

“Yep. Clowns and sideshows and trapeze artists and . . . tigers. My parents ran the Post Office there.”

He looked up from my scars and it was the first time I think he really _saw_ me—not as a potential conquest or a problem but as a person. Someone with a story. I pushed up my glasses and pulled my shirt back up over my shoulder.

“How old were you?”

“Eleven,” I replied. “I’d just gotten my first pair of glasses that summer. Had a crush on William Powell, drank a lot of Nehi orange pop. I was laid up for three weeks and missed out on swimming for nearly eight weeks.”

“Tough break,” Ben commiserated. “No stitches?”

“They tried but as you saw the edges were pretty ragged. Deep in two spots, nerve and muscle got a little shredded too. Not enough to cut my mobility but now and then--especially if I twist it or sleep wrong on this shoulder--it hurts a little.”

I tried not to sound as if it mattered; after all I’d been dealing with it for nearly twenty years now but when you’re talking to a doctor—a good one—they hear things you haven’t said.

“I bet,” he murmured, still looking at me. “And nobody said anything in the showers?”

“I keep a washcloth over it. Helps trap the heat and cuts down on the questions.”

Ben nodded, and moved to sit on the floor, his back against one of the bookcases. For a moment we looked at each other and I watched the grin grow on his face. “Okay so I came here to rip you a new one only to find you’ve already been ripped and by something a hell of a lot bigger than me.”

I nodded. “And I figured _you_ were pissed because you were hung over and embarrassed about it.”

“I get hung over too often these days to be embarrassed about it anymore,” he sighed, running a hand through his bangs. “But I’m still not sure what you’re . . . doing with me. TO me.”

“Ah. Well, I’m shifting the paradigm,” I told him. “Swapping out the usual roles I suppose. Isn’t it exhausting to be a brilliant surgeon AND the 4077th’s gift to women?”

“What gave it away?” he dimpled for a moment before letting the grin slip away. I rose out of the chair and dropped to the floor next to him.

“The fatigue. The ‘going through the motions’ stance you put on when more than one person is watching, Ben. Instead of drinking or screwing, just let yourself get some rest,” I told him. “Down time. No competition, no distraction, just close your eyes and let the body do a little recovering.”

“You’re not related to Sidney Freedman by any chance are you?” still he closed his eyes.

“Nope. Just relax,” I leaned against him, letting Ben press back against my good shoulder. “Tell me about your home town.”

“Crabapple Cove,” he murmured drowsily. “Population eight hundred and two. One garage, three bars, a boat yard and wharf. Cold as hell in winter, perfect in summer. There are three massive oaks trees in the town square and I’ve climbed every one of them. Gone lobster potting and fishing with my dad during the season, clambakes on the rock beach in summer with steamed Quahogs and littlenecks.”

I let him reminisce until his words got slower and he slowly fell asleep against me and the weight of his head on my good shoulder helped me forget about my bad one.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hawkeye_

That was the start of a strange yet easy connection with Rydersen; that little nap on the library floor. I’m not going to admit how many years it had been since I’d actually slept with someone else—as in sleep sleep—but the number was up there, nearing the double digit mark. 

Around here that’s no surprise; we’re pretty regulated about where we’re supposed to be although the rules can be bent more easily than Radar’s paperclips. And those weekend passes? There’s a _reason_ people come back tired but smiling. The hedonistic lure of decent beds and scandalous company is more than enough to get the libido going into overdrive.

So I started sitting across from Rydersen at breakfast and asking about Gibsonton and yes, apparently she’d known dog-faced boys and strong men and Siamese twins. Her parents had been pretty upset about the tiger attack, which was no surprise, but between the town and the circus people donating money, the funds had put her through college and medical school.

“Why anesthesiology?” I wanted to know one morning a few weeks later.

“Guess who didn’t get _any_ for her stitches,” she told me dryly. “All they had has lidocaine and they couldn’t figure out the amount for an 11 year old. So I had to be held down.”

“Jesus.” I could see it and I didn’t want to. 

She just shrugged and went on eating scrambled eggs. “Backwater town with one doctor, not much call for anything more. I survived. Are you going to eat that bacon?”

“Yes,” I muttered and did so.

She laughed at me. “What about you? What drove Ben Pierce into medicine?”

I could be flippant or honest with her and for some damned reason I chose the latter. “My mom. She died of cancer when I was twelve. Lung. I always thought . . .” I didn’t really want to say it out-loud because now it sounded so pathetically naïve.

“That someone should have saved her by cutting it out,” Rydersen finished, nodding. “So, thoracic surgery.”

“Yeah.” Now I needed to get the hell away so I got up. “So, heigh ho, heigh ho, it’s off—“ Right then the choppers cut off a perfectly good exit line.

“Incoming!” the PA informed us but by then we were on the move.

By luck of the draw I got paired with Rydersen this time and we got to work on the arriving human jigsaw puzzles. I thought I’d be self-conscious around her but I wasn’t; I couldn’t be with kid after kid on my table. Lacerated spleens, leaking aortas, punctured lungs and livers and hearts. The mind goes into a weird overdrive as you do a mental triage: what needs fixing first? How long have you got? Then your countdown clock kicks in for the minimum repair time for each injury and you’ve got to keep track of them all before you can close up and move on.

Your assisting helps of course as does your gas passer. It’s great to have people who know your style and can keep up. We’re all different of course but by now we’ve worked together enough to get our bearings pretty fast.

Rydersen was great. Anticipated me, kept me up on the vitals, moved from one patient to the next without fumbling or waiting. Not that I could say anything but I noticed, believe me. By the time we were done twenty six kids were in post-op and I was ready for lunch, but I was top of the rotation so BJ offered to bring me a few sandwiches.

Great guy. I’d only had to grovel for half a day to get back in his good graces as I plied him with a bottle of Old Gran-dad at the same time for lubrication. It’s hard for him to hold a grudge; we’re working on it.

Post-op had its own rhythm too; slower. Time to get a look at the person you’ve been rooting around in, and do some reassuring if you’re both lucky and awake. Most were looking good and the one I was most concerned about was breathing easier as I watched. Morphine is the great equalizer when it comes to post-op pain and giving these kids just enough to rest is a tricky balance.

Rydersen brought me the sandwiches which I thought was nice of her until she took one of them and the pickle as well.

“Dill thievery will get you shot in the wrong town,” I grumbled, settling into the chair at the end of the room. “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman.”

“Don’t you think execution is a little harsh?” she pulled up another chair.

“Don’t steal the brine if you can’t do the time, sister,” I told her. To that she made a face and proceeded to slip one of the pickles into her mouth salaciously. 

You heard me; salaciously. There was no mistaking the slow slide of cured cucumber through the wet ring of her lips. I stared, trying not to let my imagination loose, which was impossible.

“Okay this? That is porn. Pickle porn. Not something I’d ever thought I’d saaayyyyy . . .” It was getting to me, this little blow job on a gherkin. “Stop.”

Rydersen did, giving me a shrug. “Got carried away there. You’re fun to tease but I don’t want to be cruel about it, not really.”

I set the plate down and leaned closer to her, looking into her eyes through those glasses. “Bets, you’ve been teasing me since the day you got here. It’s not cruel--well not anymore--but I’m not sure what you want and I sure as hell don’t know how to get what I want.”

She brushed a hand through my hair. “Well, what I want is my way with you at some point. I think that’s what you want too but I can’t speak for you.”

“ _Your_ way,” I echoed, just to make sure I got that right.

“ _My_ way,” Rydersen agreed. 

_Betsy_

Wonder of wonders he was considering it. I wanted to hold my breath but that might have given away how much this mattered to me now so I tried to be patient. Men like Ben can’t be rushed into anything despite what people think. They’re stubborn to the bone, granite under the devil-may-care façade.

“And what does your way entail?” he finally asked, taking a savage bite of the deviled ham sandwich. I suspect that was to stop himself from asking anything more. He watched me though as he chewed.

I cocked my head. “Well, we’ve already started, sort of. Just talking at breakfast has been pretty nice. I suppose the next part will be me getting my hands under your shirt.”

Ben choked, and I had to thump on his back until his windpipe cleared but when he looked up at me he was smirking. “I’m getting it now,” he rasped. “Sort of Sadie Hawkins but with sex.”

“Difference being I don’t plan to marry you,” I assured him. “But yes, sort of a . . . role reversal. I did warn you.”

“But I’m not good at . . .” he rolled a hand forward, unable to actually finish the sentence. I wasn’t going to do it for him so I waited. 

Ben blushed. “At, ah, dancing backwards,” he finally managed.

“Really? A quick-thinking, fast-witted confident Casanova like you?” I drawled out. “And here I assumed you’d been around the block so often you’d worn your own path. Well that’s all right. Don’t think of it as dancing backwards as much as following my lead. I know that’s not your preference . . .”

He gave a great drawn-out sigh. “It’s not. Or at least it wasn’t but the last time took a lot out of me.”

Ah, there we had it. I had my suspicions but hearing them confirmed was disheartening. “So you know what I’m talking about,” I murmured.

“Yes,” Ben admitted reluctantly. “I do.” He pushed the plate away and gave me the bare bones of his time with Doctor Inga Halvorsen. I listened. It was the least I could do and the gist of what I heard buoyed me up a bit because he ended with, “So I was an idiot, which isn’t new, but I’m not exactly sure I’m ready to try it again.”

I nodded and gave him a smile. “At least you know that much about yourself, right?”

“Maybe,” Ben murmured. “Sure you don’t want to sit back and let _me_ do the driving? Not that I’m one to brag but I do have some mileage in that department.”

I considered it and shook my head. “Maybe down the road but not here at the beginning. See if I let you do what you always do, it would be that much harder later for you to let me . . . take the wheel. I’d resent that, and those feelings would ruin anything we had.” I bent closer to him. “I’ve been through it before and it hurt a lot.”

Now he looked curious. “Why . . . why are you like this?”

It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that and I gave a shrug. “I don’t know. From early on I was always the ringleader for whatever I got into. Sort of a tomboy in charge I guess. It runs in the family.”

“Like mother like daughter?” Ben grinned a little.

“Oh no. I’m more like my aunt,” I assured him. I wasn’t quite ready to explain what she did for a living so I changed the subject. “Anyway if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I appreciate your honesty.”

“So . . . now what?” he wanted to know, puppy-eyed and eager. 

I smiled back. “Well there are plenty of fish in the sea. I’m sure you could charm Paula and Helene probably would be willing to give you a second chance; even Sharon thinks you’re cute.”

His face fell so quickly you’d have thought he’d been told Christmas was cancelled. “But I’m not interested in them. Particularly,” Ben amended, not ready to exclude any prospects.

“Maybe, but it would be comfortable and familiar for you,” I pointed out, picking up the plate. “And that’s what matters, right?”

He gave me a troubled look and I knew it was time to leave and let him stew in his own thoughts for a while. I gave him a quick smile and left, well-aware that Ben was watching my ass as I did so.

It was risky. He might actually _take_ my advice which would hurt, but I was gambling that between his curiosity and pride, he’d come around. I suspected there might be a hint of jealousy too, which was flattering. In the meantime I had to stay friendly but platonic while his devil and angel battled it out.

That meant I’d be doing a lot of knitting in the next few weeks so after I dropped off the plate I went to my tent for my yarn and needles, wondering how long the scarf would be before a certain surgeon made up his mind about what he needed.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hawkeye_

Intelligence is defined as the capacity to learn; that’s the standard for Homo Sapiens and yet I can honestly say that simply having the capacity doesn’t mean we’re willing to do it. I was torn between putting in a call to Sidney and putting in a lot of personal quality time after Betsy’s words. None of it was making the decision any easier, frankly.

It wasn’t just the sex—or the potential sex—that was bothering me. Sex I could do, and have, oh _yes._ I’ve utilized nearly every horizontal surface within the 4077th barring Father Mulcahy’s tent and Potter’s desk because there are limits to my spontaneity. (For the record, sex in a jeep can be a real test of endurance and physical origami.) No I was sure anything Rydersen and I got up to would be _phenomenal_. The sashay of her stride and the easy swing of her hips sent out clear vibes of seduction. Pair that with the ash-blonde hair and once again, those glasses . . . it had impending combustibility verging on atomic.

No it was the route _towards_ that destination that I wrestled with, because my traitorous thoughts were presenting solid arguments for the cause. To wit: I was a grown man, fully confident in my own libido and persona; this wasn’t a permanent arrangement either in format or duration; and the secret shameful kicker, I might like it. 

That last one was hard to admit. Being bossed around by, say, Margaret would be a fate worse than death—it would put me on par with _Frank_ for God’s sake. But being bossed around by Betsy . . . someone who had a gentle side, who was funny and sexy as hell . . . the allure was hard to deny. I liked to make her laugh; how much better could it get once we were doing something more than sharing pancakes and sausage?

As I wrestled with the prospect, I tried to act normally which meant putting oatmeal in Charles’ French horn and perfecting my distillation of cabbage into something as potent to my liver as it was to my large intestine. I didn’t avoid Betsy but it was clear she was giving me time to think which was part of the problem right there.

Matters came to a head when BJ invited her to sit in on poker. Oh that baby face of his hides his Machiavellian nature so well and I knew if I objected I’d never live down his insinuations and smirking. On the other hand, it would give me a chance to see Rydersen around other people, so I agreed. This turned out to be a mistake of gigantic proportions because both Charles and Father Mulcahy were utterly taken by Rydersen. 

Damn it, I should have seen _that_ coming.

So there I was, trying to be my usual snide and brilliant self through rounds of five card stud while Rydersen chatted and charmed the other players right under my nose. The first four hands went to the Father, and he quit while he was ahead. That left the four of us all cozy around the card table as it got darker outside. Naturally alcohol was involved and while Betsy drank, it was at a deliberately slower pace than the rest of us.

BJ was winning, which was his plan all along, apparently. I’m sure he knew I’d be distracted by matters other than gambling. Charles was more of an easy mark this time round and eventually dropped out, claiming it was his shift in Post-op, but not before declaring Rydersen to be ‘chahrming company.’ I noticed I was down to my last four dollars, but Rydersen wasn’t as BJ dealt. I ended up with a natural full house; tens over jacks. 

I passed, but noticed that Rydersen drew two and BJ three. Interesting. I ante-ed and watched as a certain person pushed up her glasses and hesitated. 

“Come on Rydersen,” I taunted. “If you win you can have your way with me.”

That made her smile a little. “ _My_ way?” she replied and not only ante-ed, but upped it by two, which meant I was down to my last dollar. “Call.”

“Dealer’s out. To you, Hawk,” BJ reminded me with a grin. At this point I was harboring serious suspicions he and Rydersen had teamed up but she’d drawn two and there weren’t many hands that could beat what I had so I went with my usual dramatic flair.

“Alas, it was not to be,” I intoned, batting my eyes at her. “Let the weeping and gnashing of teeth commence.” I laid out my cards in a flourish that can only be described as eye-catching.

“That’s impressive,” Rydersen agreed, not looking at all upset. That should have tipped me off right there, but I was too caught up in my little victory, gloating as she swept her hand on the table, spreading out a garden party of queens over kings. The damned symbolism wasn’t lost on me as I stared.

“Hers is impressive-er,” BJ pointed out unhelpfully. “I think you’ve just become property of the lady, Hawk.”

When I looked from the cards to Rydersen, she cocked her head. “It’s okay. I’ll just settle for the shirt off your back.”

_Betsy_

One thing I will say for Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce is that he isn’t a welsher. Once he realized I’d won he acknowledged it, shooting his tent mate a dirty look when he thought I couldn’t see.

Ah well, I’d been taught five-card stud by people who played it every day, so my skills were pretty sharp. Not that I cheated, but I did have a leg up on spotting tells and doing a little counting. Still, the game was over and when I suggested he walk me to my tent Ben did so, looking torn between skittishness and heat. Think of a panther on edge; watching but preening a bit too. It was late, and when I began making a detour towards the library tent, Ben shot me a quick glance.

“You mean to collect right _now_?” he wanted to know.

“Yep.”

Ben looked as if he wanted to protest so I stopped and looked at him long enough for him to fidget a little. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “If _I_ had won, I’d be cashing in right now too. It just feels weird to be . . . .”

“A prize?” I offered. “A warm body to be used for the moment?”

“Geez, when you put it like _that_ ,” he winced, so I took his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Sometimes the shoe on the other foot pinches a little, I know. But I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”

He let me lead him to the library, which was dark, but near the back one of the camp streetlights shown through the canvas enough to put us in a comfortable dimness. Before Ben could either change his mind or try to take charge, I pushed him to sit in one of the armless wooden chairs and leaned over him, speaking softly.

“I will kiss you and you can decide when, but _I_ get to touch you—above the waist—as much as I like for the next half hour.”

“That’s . . . a pretty good deal,” Ben mumbled, clearly off-balance. He started to reach for me, but I caught his hands to stop him.

“Ah-ah. Here, let’s set this up right.” His regulation shirt was already undone so I tugged the back of it up and slipped it over the back of the chair. This pinned him there, especially when I pushed the collar down along the back of the chair. Ben was trapped with his shirt around the chair, the sleeves pinning his arms to his sides. 

He looked so nonplussed that I laughed and rubbed my cheek against his, which was warm and faintly scratchy. “Perfect. Now, would you like a kiss?”

“God yesss,” Ben breathed, quivering a little, so I moved in and planted my mouth on his.

Oh he could kiss, yes he could. Soft and slow, a teasing sweep of tongue along mine. He tasted divine and I felt my pulse pick up speed as we drew our kiss out into slow tastings of each other.

I needed to breathe though, so I pulled back and giggled. “Glasses are steamed up now,” I told him.

“More where _that_ came from,” he assured me in a slightly dazed voice.

“Good,” I got busy slipping my hands under his grey t-shirt, touching warm skin. Ben squirmed a little since my palms were cool but he didn’t complain, especially when I gave a little purr of appreciation for the lean muscles there. I stroked his chest and took a moment to tickle the little valley of curls between his ribs. At the same time, I shifted myself to sit in his lap, resting my boots on the side rungs of the chair legs; that way I could alter the pressure of my weight on him.

Ben gave a groan as I settled down. “Okay if this is torture I’m all _for_ it. I _confess_ , just . . . wiggle a little, please?”

“Shhhhh,” I found his nipples, and flicked those darling little nubs. Bingo; he drew in a hard gasp, arching a little. I bent to nip the side of his neck and that drew a helpless groan from him as his dog tags jingled.

We spent a good long time in the semi-darkness and I kept up a slow and unpredictable pattern of kisses, light pinches and grinds while Ben growled and gasped and muttered incredibly filthy words as his body responded to mine. I was getting fairly worked up myself, especially every time I kissed him and his tongue played with mine.

Finally though I gave in to the urge within me and hooked my boots around the back of the chair, all the better to rub against the ridge in Ben’s lap under me. He had the same idea and I felt him brace his long legs to counterthrust. Between us we started an erotic rhythm, bouncing and grinding together and it got to a point when I knew I was going to climax on that man.

So I did, giving in to my natural tendency to groan, my fingers digging into his shoulders. Ben came too—I felt his wet heat seeping between us, dampening the inner thighs of my trousers as I kissed him hard.

I had to laugh a little breathlessly at how utterly debauched he looked; freshly fucked and doe-eyed, not a witty quip left, or so I thought.

But when I helped free him, he gave a little sigh. “Chalk one up for the no-hands approach.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Hawkeye_

I had no idea. None. And I consider myself a worldly man; well-versed in romping through cupid’s grove. Lost my virginity well before the national average; worked my way through medical school nurses before opting to play the field both at home and abroad. In keeping with the sex as sports metaphor, I considered myself the starting lineup ace pitcher in any encounter.

So who knew being catcher could be so . . . _mind_ -blowing? And not just _mind_ if we’re being honest here. I hadn’t had a make-out session this scorching since tangling up with Tillie Brewster in the middle school cloak room. And all Bets and I did was kiss, theoretically. Oh there was friction involved but no nudity or exposed body parts . . . nothing risqué except my . . . confinement.

But there was something to be _said_ for it. That’s the kicker. I thought about it going to sleep and woke up hard as the Hope Diamond, which was my libido’s way of being damned unsubtle. While my head was still working through the facts, my body was rarin’ to go and onboard with the program. This dichotomy left me A) in need of a shower and B) completely off my game in approaching Rydersen at breakfast.

So like a coward I skipped it, occupying my time with a completely unnecessary round through Post-Op. I looked in on patients and bantered with Margaret, who gave me the Look of Deep Suspicion she does so well. The woman should patent it, or copyright it or whatever the process is.

“Why are _you_ here?” she hissed at me. “It’s not your shift.”

“Maybe I just like checking that nobody’s come unzipped.”

“As if that would happen on _my_ watch,” Margaret muttered back, adding a nostril flare to make her point. After a few seconds of staring at me, she tensed up a little more. “Oh God. This is about _her_ , isn’t it?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” I lied, grabbing the nearest chart and studying it for a few seconds before giving in and turning it right-side up.

“It _is_ ,” came the hiss. “I know when you’re _panicking,_ doctor; you start twitching like a seizure patient. What did you _say_ to her?”

“Nothing!” I protested. Margaret is part bloodhound though; she rolled her eyes.

“I swear to heaven if you’ve screwed things up with Rydersen I will take out your tonsils through your _ears_ , Pierce! It’s hard enough to get NAs this close to the front, let alone ones who can keep you in line. Whatever you’ve done, _undo_ it pronto!”

“I can’t undo what I haven’t _done_ ,” I objected but Hot Lips was already at the far end of the room setting up to change a dressing. Frustrated even more now, I stalked off and tried not to head to the mess tent, but my boots betrayed me and I found myself stepping in and looking for Rydersen.

There she was, back to the door but I’d know that luscious nape anywhere. I skulked over, dropping myself on the bench opposite her at the table. There was a book in front of her and she glanced up to smile at me before dropping her gaze back to it.

“Hey,” she murmured sweetly. 

I resented that; how could she be so calm? So nonchalant? So . . . _normal_?

“You’re weirded out,” Rydersen went on quietly. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I muttered. “Geez, why can’t this be like . . . .”

“Like all your _other_ romances?” Rydersen finished. “You know the answer to that. What I can tell you is that I _loved_ last night.”

The heat in her voice got to me; no faking that, and from the stirring in my shorts at least my body was ready to go to round two the minute she gave the sign. I shifted a little uncomfortably and she gave a chuckle, finally closing her book to look at me. “Which do you like better: pie or cobbler?”

“Cobbler,” I blurted. “Blueberry.” I hadn’t thought of the stuff in years, but the word alone brought back a memory of the ceramic dish on the kitchen table, draped in one of my mom’s old flour sack dishtowels. I would practically smell the warm sugar. 

“Want me to make you one?”

_Betsy_

Those bright blue eyes of his widened and I knew it was the right thing to ask. I credit my aunt for that; she’d reminded me time and time again that the best way to show a man you cared was to balance out your way with his. I’d gotten to tie Ben up last night; today I would bake him a dessert and show him I could give as well as take.

“Yes, but _why_?” he wanted to know, so I held up the cookbook.

“Fanny Farmer, 1936—probably the newest book in our library.”

“You said ‘fanny,’” he smirked, reverting to his inner ten-year-old. It was a good sign and I snickered back.

“Yes I did. I also happen to have two cans of blueberries I got in trade for a bra that was too small and I’m pretty sure I can sweet-talk the kitchen staff into letting me bake later tonight. Sound good to you?”

“Yeah,” he looked nostalgic and adorable all in one. I nodded and waited.

Ben finally gave a little sigh. “I don’t get you, but . . . I _want_ to.”

I loved hearing that.

“Ask me a question. I have a few minutes before I need to go and plead with Potter for new stools, so ask me something,” I encouraged him.

“Why _me_?” Ben blurted, suddenly serious. “Out of every other guy in this camp?” I knew this was coming but still it jolted me to see that insecure side of him so I took a deep breath.

“Because we’re . . . alike. You and I, we’re _not_ career Army. We both lost our moms early on; we both like to flirt and we’re both . . . hurting. We’re hurting and we’re damned good at hiding it.”

I got the intense gaze again, mixed with compassion. Ben reached for my hand, squeezing it and I felt myself tearing up, damn it.

“Gotta go,” I murmured giving a clumsy squeeze back before letting go and slipping out, leaving him and trying to get myself together before I faced the colonel.

Potter agreed about the stools and put his company clerk on it, which made me feel better on the professional level. Even if we only got two, at least Paula and Gretchen wouldn’t be falling on their asses every time they had to shift around a patient’s head. More than two would be a blessing but this was the Army so I wasn’t counting on too much.

In the meantime I had some cooks to charm.

\--oo00oo—

“So what happened to her?” came the gentle question. I was in the middle of mixing the cooking oil and powdered eggs when Ben asked.

“Her appendix burst while she and my dad were out fishing,” I told him. “She’d been hiding her pain for a week before the trip, and when they got to shore she said she felt fine, but by the next day . . .” I sighed.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Ben told me. He came up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, giving me a light hug. This unexpected affection nearly undid me but I turned my head to look over my shoulder at him.

“I’ve made my peace with it. Thank you, though, for caring.”

He still hovered there so I kissed him lightly before turning back to the cobbler topping. Ben didn’t let go and I didn’t mind at all. This wasn’t particularly sexual as much as it was just comforting, having him there.

“I liked it,” I heard him whisper as he rested his chin on my shoulder. “I can’t figure out why, but I did.”

“It does take some getting used to,” I agreed and sprinkled sugar into the mix. “But then so does every other taste we acquire. And this one you don’t have to share with anybody else if you don’t _want_ to.”

“Nobody’d _believe_ me,” Ben sighed and I had to giggle partially because his breath tickled and partially because he was so naive.

“ _Lots_ of men like a little roping,” I told him, moving to pour the batter over the top of the rinsed blueberries in the pan. “With stockings or sashes or even bras, Oh Natty Bumpo mine. I’m willing to bet BJ’s indulged with his wife at least once if not more.”

Ben snorted, but I just laughed. “Oh he has, trust me. So I think this is ready for the oven . . .”

After setting it in, I turned to find Ben giving me a speculative glance. “What should we do while the cobbler bakes?"

I stepped closer and caught his wrists, gripping them firmly as I flicked my tongue out and let it circle my lips. “Cribbage?”

“Not a chance,” Ben rumbled back, leaning in for a kiss.

So we necked for a while as the cobbler baked. Light stuff, like a pair of dating teenagers. He tickled me, and I goosed him to get him back. For a while Ben tried to chase me around the worktable but when I finally let him catch me, I kissed him, melting into his arms and it was too delicious for words. Sexy yes, but dangerously tender and we both knew it. 

And the cobbler was perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hawkeye_

_Dear Dad,_

_I felt I should give you a heads up that this letter might sound a little weird, and given everything that’s going on around this side of the world that’s saying something. But I’ve met a woman and she’s . . . I don’t know. Special? Different? All of the above? I’m still trying to figure out how to call it. Things are still too new to call it love, and infatuation is for bobby-soxers with copies of Photoplay clutched to their scrawny chests. Maybe it’s somewhere in the middle._

_There’s a chance it won’t work out. You know me, always leave them laughing with an emphasis on ‘always leave them’ part but the last few years have changed me. I can’t say it’s for the better but you can’t face weeks and weeks of patching up kids as quickly as you can without shifting your perspectives on life._

_When I left the Cove it was with the idea I’d eventually be heading back into a partnership with you and doing surgery a few days a week out at Northborough Hospital. When I’m up to my elbows in viscera here it’s comforting to think I’m going back to a place where removing the occasional stray fishhook is considered major surgery._

_But I haven’t considered much beyond that. No white picket fences for me, no PTA meetings or row of stockings on the fireplace at Christmas. After Carlye . . . . well a lot changed after her. We both know that. I was young and stupid and I screwed it up for both of us. I’m not saying she doesn’t have part of the blame but I realize now that a lot more of it was on me than her. It’s water long passed under the covered bridge at this point._

_So, yeah as I said, I figured when I got back to the Cove I could pick up where I left off—that was the plan—but now I’m not so sure, Dad. Betsy—that’s her name—hell, I don’t know. She’s not like anyone I’ve met before and she drives me nuts. Bakes me cobbler, tells me off, makes me talk to her . . . and damned if it doesn’t get to me. It’s been a helluva long time since I asked for your advice, especially in this department but if you’ve got any that would apply, feel free to send it along._

_In the meantime I think you ought to see Bert over at the bait shop about the muffler. Didn’t his cousin work at a Studebaker dealership up in Waterville? And for the love of Pete, do NOT let Cora talk you into square dancing. Or if she does, please refrain from writing to ME about it—I’ve got better things to think about than mental pictures of my old man do-see-do-ing with every hausfrau within twenty miles of Augusta._

_Your son,_

_Hawkeye_

I dropped the letter off, feeling that my old man would be both thrilled and worried. Thrilled I might have a shot at something serious and worried because I was asking for advice. He’d stopped giving me any of that years ago, by mutual agreement, so this request would be a head-scratcher for sure but if he had something to say, he’d tell me.

He and mom had a good thing. My mom was tough. She’d been the oldest in a French-Canadian family of six kids and taught school for a few years before a broken wrist brought her to my old man’s office. When he found out she’d driven herself over thirty miles to see him, Dad had gone a little ballistic and insisted on driving her home. One thing led to another and thirteen months after the wedding I showed up after three days of labor.

I always did like to make an entrance, but apparently mine was enough to bring down the house, so . . . only kid. I didn’t mind at the time, although in hindsight it might have helped keep me in line if I’d had siblings. Even one. Still, they—we-- had a good thing and I basked in it right up until she started to get sick.

After Mom passed away I got pies, home-cooked meals, and dad got not so subtle offers of _other_ comfort but he turned them all down. He and I managed on our own until I went to Androscoggin, and his cousin Cora moved in to be housekeeper. She’s little and fussy and good company for dad since she used to be a visiting nurse back in the day. At the very least she makes sure he’s fed.

I moseyed my way around camp, hoping to run into Rydersen but not sure what I’d say if I did. Somewhere along the way we’d taken that detour from being an item to being a couple, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. The funny thing was I got the feeling Rydersen felt the same way.

And that was weird too because at some point a lot of the women I’d cuddled up to wanted to make future plans, which for me was the threshold I wasn’t going to cross. The few who didn’t already had future plans that didn’t _include_ me, which I was fine with. Made it easier to say goodbye and move on, actually. But Rydersen . . . she didn’t bring the future up. Hell, she didn’t bring the past up much either, unless I asked.

Maybe I needed to do more asking.

_Betsy_

I got cornered in the OR after helping to replace some of the canisters, and even though I’d suspected it would happen, I didn’t think it would be so soon. Helene Miller was there, clipboard in hand, eyebrows slightly knotted. She waited until Gretchen was gone before moving to check off supplies, but her body language made it clear she wanted to talk to me.

“So . . . you and Hawkeye are seeing a _lot_ of each other,” she began, hoping I’d pick up the conversation with a denial or agreement. I pushed up my glasses and looked at her as innocently as I could.

“Is that wrong?”

Helene gave me a slightly disbelieving look. “No. It’s just . . . a little strange, that’s all. He doesn’t have the greatest romantic fidelity track record, as I told you.”

“So I’ve been told,” I agreed, turning over the closest stool and checking the wheels on it. 

“Are you screwing him?” There it as, the blunt question. I could hear a little anxiety in it too; without a doubt, Helene was dying to know if I was a great lay.

I looked up at her again and gave her my little rueful smile. “No. We haven’t gone that far.” It was an honest answer, even if it really didn’t fit the question. Ben and I were on another layer at the moment, a layer Helene wouldn’t understand.

“Oh.” Clearly my answer surprised her and she stared at me for a moment, confused. I gave a little shrug, pulling some hair free of the wheel.

“Wow, I thought for sure . . . what with you two having breakfast together nearly every morning . . . are you . . . _okay_?” Helene fumbled, trying to sound sympathetic through her relief. Now she figured me for either a virgin or a lousy kisser, neither of which was true, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Oh I’m fine,” I told Helene. “I like to take things at my own pace.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Now I could tell she was confident I was a virgin and I suspected the rumor would be all through the nurses’ tents before tomorrow. You can’t win when it comes to gossip; if you don’t fit the mold, they’ll label you to make themselves feel more comfortable.

She came over and laid a hand on my shoulder. My clawed shoulder and the weight of her palm hurt a little. “Well if you need any advice about . . . going further, you just come to me, okay? And don’t let Hawkeye pressure you into anything you’re not ready for.”

I looked up at her and wanted to laugh. Not for her pseudo-motherly attitude, but because I knew the offer was more about compensating for her own insecurity. Helene wasn’t a bad person but she wasn’t the right one for someone like Ben.

“Thank you,” I told her softly. “You were one of the first people who was nice to me when I got here and I appreciate that, Helene.”

“No problem, sweetie. It might do Hawkeye some good to take it slow,” she gloated and left the OR. I finished cleaning the rest of the stool wheels, making a tidy pile of collected fuzz before I righted it again and sighed. 

Taking it slow . . . yeah. _I_ was taking it slow. In the beginning it was so I didn’t scare Ben, but right now I was the one getting a little scared. 

“Damn it Phillipe,” I sighed. You never forget your first love, and at the moment memory was turning me into a coward. “Don’t you laugh at me,” I muttered, looking up to the ceiling of the tent. He would be, too. Sleek, compact, beautifully, wonderfully ready to do whatever I told him to. 

The only time he failed me was when I told him not to die.

But he did and here I was, three and a half years later, not sure if I was doing the right thing for myself or Ben. I closed my eyes and remembered the kisses of the night before.

Yeah.

I pocketed the fluff and made my way out of the OR, wondering if it was too early to curl up with my knitting and a beer or two.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hawkeye_

“So what are you doing tonight?” A very original line; one of my best but at this point I was getting a little desperate. We’d been hit with a small but intense caseload of soldiers who’d been ambushed with napalm and that meant long hours working shock treatment with them on top of amputation surgery for a few.

I hate amputations. I know according to the triage they’re necessary but the guilt over taking off a limb even as a matter of life and death is nothing any of us will ever stop feeling. It’s one of the rare situations where I don’t make jokes because it will never be funny.

Even _I_ have my limits.

We were all on the ragged edges of our nerves and I was in dire need of a distraction. Booze could get me numb, but if I kept it up I’d eventually need a liver transplant. Beyond that, a man can thumb through old nudist magazines and shoot hoops for only so long before despair sets in and besides, I was dying for a second encounter of the Rydersen variety. So leaned on my elbow, cupped my chin in hand and fluttered my eyelashes at her over breakfast. 

She stirred her oatmeal seductively. May I never say that sentence again but so help me God Bets had a way of twirling a spoon that had me quivering.

“Tonight? I’m going to let you put your hands under my clothes,” Betsy smiled at me, “but there’s a catch.”

I was too boggled to hear that, hyperventilating as I was over the very concept of getting access to her skin. She reached over and fed me a spoonful of oatmeal without my even realizing it, but after I swallowed it, I demanded, “What’s the catch?”

“You can’t look.”

“I can’t---what?”

“Blindfolded,” Rydersen clarified. “We’ll see if your surgeon’s touch lives up to reputation, eh Doctor Pierce?”

I wanted to object; she’d been stringing me along long enough already. At this point most other couples at the 4077th would be banging like temple gongs by now and here we were barely at second base. 

But I couldn’t; the very challenge of her proposition stroked my competitive nature and damn it, I liked it. I stared at her, trying not to grin. 

“Sight or no sight, I _will_ have you melting with pleasure,” I assured her. “Puddling in passion, boiled down in sheer bliss.”

“Oh?” Rydersen looked at me over the top of her glasses, her expression just this side of taunting. “Is that so?”

“Completely so. These ten digits will transport you into paradise, mon capitaine.” I waggled my fingers at her to make my point. 

“Hmmm,” she replied, still giving me the prim stare of a lady high school principal. “That remains to be seen . . . or in your case, unseen. My tent, ten o’clock.” 

Check that, a _hot_ lady high school principal.

“ _Your_ tent?” 

“Paula is filling in at the 8066th, and Sharon’s in Seoul,” Rydersen murmured. “Currently I’m without tent mates and very tired of knitting.”

This sounded better and better; I tried to look blasé and failed, I’m sure. “Oh. Interesting.”

“Not yet,” Rydersen murmured back with a wicked smile, “but it will be.”

On that tingly note I nodded and left, trying again for nonchalance and nearly knocking over Radar as I sauntered through the mess hall door. I apologized, which helped, and tried to be a little more careful but I was definitely grinning, confident in my tactile agility. After all, from seventh grade on, no brassiere was undoable; after that no girdle un-breachable for Hawkeye ‘what hooks?’ Pierce. I knew my way around lingerie better than any ladies’ department floorwalker.

Added to that, my grasp of feminine anatomy was also finely tuned. I probably would have specialized in the field but the temptation to bring my work home with me would have eventually gotten my license taken away. What can I say? I’m a hands-on sort of guy.

Still, the thought of an evening exploring Rydersen’s contours was enough to put a grin on my face and a bounce in my step. Also a lump in my shorts but that would be dealt with in due time.

_Betsy_

I’ll give him this; an eager Ben was a fun Ben. He sat on the edge of the bunk and gave me one of his more adorable gazes as I held out the black lace stocking to him.

“Nice as my legs are I’m sure that looks better on you than on me.”

“Your blindfold,” I told him. I was in my green satin robe, my hair loose for once. I could tell he approved. “So shall I tell you the rules?”

“ _Again_ with the rules,” he sighed but it was all for show. I could tell Ben was more than willing to comply for the moment. Eventually he’d push, but for now he’d behave and we’d enjoy ourselves for the night, I was sure.

I blindfolded him, trying not to be charmed by his smirk as I did so. “No looking or peeking, Benjamin Franklin Pierce. You have hands and lips to do all your exploring, and I’m yours to position any way you’d like.”

“So tell me exactly how this is _you_ bossing me around?” he wanted to know, copping a quick feel or two as I tied the stocking ends in a quick release at the back of his head. I pushed his fingers away and stepped back, staying quiet; my test to see if he really was blind now.

When he swung his head to listen for me I knew he was.

“Tell me what to do . . . darling,” I purred.

“Come here,” he rasped out, hands extended. I moved forward so that his fingertips touched my robe. He shifted forward, splaying those big elegant hands to my hips. 

“I want that _warmer_ satin,” Ben murmured, and flicked his thumbs to open the robe before shifting his touch under it. His very delicacy made me shiver and I watched him grin at that. “Oooh niiiiice. Come closer.”

So I did, standing so my knees were against his knees as he let his hands glide up along my ribcage to cup my breasts, and damned if he wasn’t the one shivering now. “Oh yeah,” Ben murmured, his voice a little wobbly. “You have NO idea how many times I’ve wanted to get to know these.”

He rose up, still fondling my chest and my breathing got a little ragged; even with a blindfold he was still tall and now his hands were tickling over the slopes of my breasts to tweak my nipples.

“Either it got chilly or you _like_ me,” he murmured, pleased, and even I had to giggle.

Oh those hands . . . his reputation was well deserved, at least when it came to touch. Ben moved to kiss me and at the same time he slid one hand around my waist to my ass. I think it startled him that I wasn’t wearing anything under the robe, and felt him throb against my thigh.

“Oh shit,” he gasped, breaking off the kiss, “You’re naked!”

“No fooling you,” I snickered. “Surprise.”

And there was a lot of kissing after that. He kissed my scarred shoulder—very tenderly—and peeled the robe open enough to get his lips on every inch of skin from my throat to my navel, which effectively had me groaning, gasping, and wound as tightly as a stopwatch by the time those talented fingers moved to my thighs.

“For the record, Bets, this is insanely hot,” he admitted, nibbling my earlobe. “And so are _you_.”

I gave a little whimper; ears are one of my ticklish zones, and moved to rub the fly of his trousers, re-acquainting myself with the heavy ridge there. “Your hands are doing it for me,” I had to admit.

“Not the way yours are, grrrrrrr,” Ben laughed wryly, shifting his fingers up and through my curls. “I may blow; I’m surprised I haven’t already.”

I giggled, but just then he managed to slide the edge of his forefinger right along the slick trough and against the underside of that very magic button. I gave a sweet yelp and Ben softened his touch even more, the rat.

And within a few moments of teasing tender strokes and bites to the side of my throat I shuddered, the hard points of my nipples scraping his tee shirt as I clung to him, not sure I could stand. Ben thrust against my caressing hand, and I managed to free his shaft long enough to squeeze it and let him come as well.

Afterwards we swayed together like dance marathoners; damp, musky and boneless. I held him, breathing in his salt and musk, feeling it soak through something dry inside my chest. It was hard not to cry and he seemed to sense it. Ben kissed my cheeks and mouth, rubbing his face against mine like a big cat.

“This,” he sighed, and couldn’t finish the words.

“This,” I murmured against his mouth


	11. Chapter 11

_Hawkeye_

It had been a long time since I’d felt this way about anyone which naturally meant I was jumpy. Sure it was great, this thing with Rydersen---she was funny and sexy and had a way of knowing just what to say, but somewhere deep down inside I was suspicious.

I mean how could it last? This was Korea, and a war zone to boot. And I wasn’t the kind of person who deserved happiness. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you that despite my charms I am a deeply flawed individual. Both Charles and Margaret would be happy to draw up full annotated _lists_ of my faults if given the opportunity and audience. And even Beej, best friend that he is, knows I’m a pain in the ass on a regular basis.

And the more I got to know her, the more I realized Rydersen deserved someone better. But every time I started to fret about how she was too good for me, she’d . . . back off. I’d never had someone do that. In my experience when I started to get moody the women I was involved with would either cling like a morning glory or stalk off in a huff—both modes I understood. They’d get upset, making it easier for me to break up with them, or give me the frosty treatment, which also made it easier for me to break up with them.

But Bets . . . when I started to try and pick a fight with her, she’d simply give me a hug and blithely go on her merry way. When I tried to follow her all the better to hash it out, she stopped me and just smiled.

“Ben, it’s okay. I’m feeling the pressure too, so let’s just take some time and breathe. It’s not like we’re committed to each other, right? We’re not joined at the hip—go have some fun and I will too.”

So I did, with a vengeance, going on a bender than only contortionist alcoholics could appreciate. Paid for it the next morning when my temples throbbed like a Gene Krupa drum solo, and when I found myself looking for Rydersen she had the gall to be too busy organizing an all-camp poker tournament to spare me any sympathy.

But she slipped me a thermos of alka-seltzer and rose up on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead, which deflated whatever righteous anger I felt, replacing it with more confusion. 

Before I could figure out how to apologize, or what to do next, we got patients, and everything else went on the back burner as we all went to work. Lots of patients. Too many patients and all of us under the gun to save as many of them as we could. Thank God the Alka-seltzer had time to work because I didn’t have the luxury of indulging in my own agony. Sure I might whine and gripe but it’s only because unlike me, these kids don’t deserve any of the injuries they get. Most of them are a decade younger than I am, and should be focused on chasing girls or getting through college, not being meaty targets for bullets.

I didn’t have Rydersen at my table; she was with Potter right in front of me while I had Sharon working my gas line. All of us were moving quickly, and I was keeping an eye on the room—Chief Surgeon’s prerogative—when I saw it happen.

Saw it, and couldn’t stop it.

The end-most corpsmen running in a stretcher bumped Rydersen as he went past her. Not deliberately; he was hurrying by with his casualty when he rammed her with his elbow. The damned stool wobbled under her and she tried to regain her balance but couldn’t, not with one caster loose. Rydersen went down and fuck of all fucks I saw her shoulder hit the floor hard.

Her left shoulder.

She cried out and lay there while we all froze for a second, and then Potter yelled out, “Captain! You okay there?”

“Bets!” I called because I couldn’t help myself, and then to my assisting, “take this,” as I shoved my forceps in her direction. I peeled off my gloves and was over to Rydersen in three steps, getting down to her because she wasn’t getting up. “Bets . . . .”

A skittering clatter--shit, I’d kicked her glasses across the OR floor.

Her lip was bloody and I slid a hand under her bad shoulder, trying to be gentle. “Honey, talk to me,” I told her.

Bets howled, making my flesh crawl and I realized she was going into shock, so I scooped her up and lugged her through the OR doors to post-op, setting her on the first empty bed there. 

The bad news was that she wouldn’t uncurl, staying in a rigid ball. I checked her pulse, worked my hands to her shoulder and spoke as softly as I could. “Babe, you _have_ to let me check it. I know it’s dislocated and hurts like fuck but please, Bets, let me help.”

She shuddered; I realized the reason her lip was bloody was because she was biting it hard enough to shred it to ribbons. I called for morphine and injected it, holding Bets until I felt her go out, feeling grateful when the dope finally did its work. It was only when I started to check her shoulder that I heard Margaret come up behind me.

“Doctor, you have to go back to the OR and finish,” she reminded me, pulling down her mask. “We’ll take care of Captain Rydersen.”

“She’s got prior damage to the deltoid,” I babbled. “We can’t do a Hippocrates reduction, Margaret. She’s probably going to need surgery; I need to check.”

“ _Doctor_ . . . ,” Margaret came a little closer and I didn’t dare look at her. Then her voice was softer. “Hawkeye, you’ve _got_ to go back. She’s medicated; we can deal with her once we’re done with the more critical cases.”

She was right of course, damn it. I really hated Hot Lips in that moment. I rubbed my thumb over Bets’ welling lip, kissed her forehead and slowly headed around through pre-op to scrub up again, feeling a kaleidoscope of emotions I didn’t know how to deal with.

_Betsy_

I remembered getting bumped, and falling, thinking, _Damn this stool_ before the explosion of bloody red pain hit like a every nerve being ripped out of my body. It took the breath from me, and I lost it, I know. After that all I could was curl up until I blacked out. 

I also know I was out for a while because when I woke up in Post-Op, I realized I had an IV line in, and my shoulder throbbed. I was thirsty, I ached everywhere and it was night. When I tried to sit up, someone moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “No, no, you need to stay put, Bets.”

Ben. God he had stubble and heavy bags under his eyes and I started to cry because he was _exactly_ the person I wanted to see. Lucky for me he seemed to understand because he leaned down and kissed me, scratchy face and all. “For the record, I’ve added to your scar collection.”

My lip hurt but I didn’t give a damn; I hooked my good arm around his neck and kept him close. “Better than a tattoo.”

“I’ll get you one of those too if you want,” Ben assured me, and added, “Bets, I’m pretty sure I love you.”

“Pretty sure?” I teased weakly. “ _Pretty_ sure?”

“Well, ninety nine and forty four one hundredths percent sure,” he told me, smartass that he was. 

I snorted. “If that’s as good a declaration as I’ll get, I’ll take it. How long with my arm be in this sling and when can I get up?”

“Six weeks minimum and two days if you behave,” he told me, looking serious again. “I went in and took out a lot of scar tissue, and then repaired as much of your deltoid as I could. Also found . . .” Ben dug in his breast pocket and pulled out a pill bottle that rattled, “a little souvenir Princess left behind in you.”

I tried to peer at it, but didn’t have my glasses on; Ben brought the bottle closer so I could focus on the dark pink sliver in it.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “That’s . . .”

“A tiger claw tip,” Ben nodded. “Whoever did your original debridement ought to be sued. You’ve had this in a granuloma wedged pretty deep for the last twenty years. Most likely the source of your nerve pain.”

“Wait, _you_ did surgery? On _me_?” I blinked up at him as he set the bottle on my nightstand.

He sighed. “You fell. You screamed. I . . . may have overreacted a bit.”

I licked my lower lip, which had a scab on it. “A bit,” I agreed. 

“Hey, you were _hurt_ I had to _do_ something; I knew I _could_ do something so I did.”

“Because . . . ?” I prompted him, needing to hear him say it again.

He chuffed out a harsh sigh. “Because I _love_ you, okay?”

“That kind of terrifies me,” I told him, “even though I love hearing it. And I’m worried that I love you back.”

“Yeah?” he mumbled teasingly, “what was that last, I didn’t quite catch that?”

“I said I’m worried I love you _back_ , you jackass. Don’t make me get out of this bed and strangle you with my sling, okay?”

And we grinned like idiots at each other, both of us looking like hell and feeling higher than the moon I guess. Then the pain started up and I gave a little whimper but Ben was on it, laying some morphine tabs on my tongue and holding the glass for me while I washed them down. It dawned on me that he was a hell of a doctor on top of being an adorable idiot.

“Back to lala-land for you, Rydersen and bedtime for me too,” he said through a yawn. “Try not to fall out of bed and ruin my work.”

“Riiight,” I sighed. “I’m only letting you boss me around because I’m drugged.”

He kissed my nose. “Heal up and we’ll get back to negotiating who’s in charge sweetheart.”

I was too sleepy to remind him it was me, but shot him a glare that had him chuckling all the way out of post-op.


	12. Chapter 12

_Hawkeye_

It took me all of two days to realize that taking care of Rydersen was turning me on. Oh I’ve ‘played doctor’ with other women but this time the phrase was accurate, and in a big way. Weird feelings of protectiveness and concern kept popping up every time I saw her with that damned sling. For the first time in my life I . . . hovered. Even Potter noticed.

“If you don’t back off and give that filly room to breathe you’re gonna get kicked,” he pointed out sagely to me. 

“I can’t help it; she’s my patient,” I protested. We were in his office and I was signing off on a few reports that needed my John Hancock for some reason.

“Oh I think she’s a little bit more than that, son. I’m sorry we’re gonna have to send her to Tokyo unless we can figure out a way to work short one NA.”

“Shit.” That slipped out before I could stop it, but Potter only nodded.

“Yep. And I’ve told Radar that if we don’t get those new stools I’m going to get on the horn and personally invite D. MacArthur to feel my boot against his backside.”

“How soon?” I asked. “The transfer that is, not the call.”

“Two days.” Potter gave me one of those serious looks that I hate so much; the ones that mean bad news. “We’re in a lull now but if we get a big wave, we’ll need every hand on deck, Pierce. We can’t afford to wait for Rydersen to heal.”

I went and found my little broken-wing Bets coming out of the Mess tent; she gave me an exasperated look. “Yes, yes I ate _all_ my boiled tasteless vegetables Doctor Pierce.”

“That’s good; keep it up and I’ll let you drink some of my distilled cabbage later but first I have to know . . . can you still work?”

She got it; I could tell by the set of her mouth. “Yes. I mean I _could_ but only if I can sit at the head of the table, not off to the side so I don’t bump anyone with my sling.”

“Okay. Let’s demo for Potter.”

“Now?”

“Now.” I was adamant, partially because I knew not only would a demonstration convince him, but also because I knew Bets could do it. I’d seen her in action and could vouch that a one-handed Rydersen would still be better than any two-handed replacement.

So I got to stretch out on one of our operating tables while Bets pretended to put me under and Potter watched and timed her. There was a point to it all, but lying there as he put her through her paces gave me time to realize something _else._

Finally Potter gave a grudging nod. “Okay, Captain you know your stuff and you’ll do, but I’m going to insist one of the other passers buddy up with you if our dance floor gets crowded.”

“Believe me sir, I’ll call for help if and when I need it,” Rydersen told him and I waited until Potter left to sit up and give her an accusing stare.

“You are not wearing a _bra._ ”

She shifted her sling over her chest and so help me, blushed. “Trust you to spot that. Yeah, it’s a little tricky to work the hooks up my back when my shoulder’s immobile.”

“You are _not_ wearing a bra,” I repeated, and moved closer to her. “That—those—are going to drive me crazy.”

“Then you’re going to have to suffer for a while, unless you find me something that hooks up the front, Ben.”

“I don’t know, having easy access . . .” I reached out and cupped a hand under one of her breasts, feeling the sweet heft overflowing in my palm. That and all the beds around us had me feeling distinctly tingly in naughty places.

“True, although the stares have been uncomfortable.”

“ _What_ stares?” Even as I asked it, I felt myself get angry. She arched an eyebrow at me and pushed her glasses up even as her other hand caught mine and squeezed it against her chest.

“We’re in a camp that’s seventy-five percent men under the age of thirty five,” Rydersen pointed out. “ _Those_ stares.”

“No,” I told her, feeling torn between the luscious heat of her chest and the dry facts coming out of her pretty lips. “They’re not _allowed_ to stare. No way. These are for my eyes only. And fingers and lips.”

“Without support, I bounce when I walk,” Bets reminded me. “Gravity in action, Ben. And frankly when I bounce, men are going to stare.”

And because that scenario was completely _unacceptable_ in any way shape or form, right then I volunteered to become Captain Rydersen’s personal dresser.

_Betsy_

Ever since the surgery I’d been waiting to be shipped out; I’d already warned Sharon, Gretchen and Paula that it was likely, but having a chance to show the colonel that I could still do the job was a huge relief. Being right-handed helped, and I found I could use my left as long as I angled myself so my fingers could assist. It wasn’t ideal, but with one of the other nurses keeping an eye on me I knew I could handle things.

They were a great team to work with and I even got a visit from Major Houlihan, who quietly offered to help out as well. “You know what you’re doing, and you’re good for morale. For _his_ morale,” she told me. “Pierce may not be a particularly good officer but he’s a hell of a surgeon and we need him. Of course if you ever _tell_ him that I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

“Understood, Ma’am,” I nodded, fighting a smile.

She gave me another speculative look and sighed. “I saw how he reacted when you fell. And I don’t know _how_ you handle him Captain, but . . . whatever it is, keep doing it. Dismissed.”

I went to get my bra unhooked.

We had it down to an art; when I got up and dressed in the morning, I’d slip it on and then put my shirts on over it before meeting Ben by the library. Ben would hook the brassiere up for me before breakfast, and later at night unhook it when I was ready to shower or go to bed. 

Just a little thing; helpful. Playful. Intimate. I liked the way his arms would slip around me under my shirt, and how he would steal a kiss, or just nuzzle my neck while he managed the trickiest hooks Maidenform ever made. He used to brag about his skills but I was learning firsthand about them and putting them to good use.

And it was a lovely excuse to be in his arms at least twice a day.

But Ben was also being overly cautious, and I started to get a little impatient. It’s one thing to be treated with kid gloves and another when you want those gloves off. Having him brushing up against me had my hormones surging so I put a little more into my kisses, only to feel him struggle over it.

“You’re hurt,” he kept telling me. “I’m not going to take advantage until you’re healed. THEN I’ll take advantage.”

“If I can put grown men under with only one hand I’m pretty sure I can deal with _you_ , Ben Pierce.”

“Be that as it may, I’m doing the painfully noble thing and resisting your charms,” he murmured regretfully.

I wasn’t about to let THAT happen, so when the new stools arrived, I borrowed one, rolling it into the library and plunking myself onto it. Took some guessing to adjust the height, but once I set it, I waited for my unsuspecting prey.

Yes I’d been reading too many National Geographics but I felt it was time to move to third base, immobilized shoulder notwithstanding. When twilight fell I heard boot steps approaching and watched as the canvas and wood door opened. “Someone call for a hooker?” Ben snickered into the semi-darkness. “Or an un-hooker as the case may be?”

“Come here,” I purred at him, and he did, nearly bumping into me. At this point I was eye-level with his crotch, which let me know I’d set the stool perfectly. Before he could say a word, I slid my hand up one of his thighs. “Very good.”

“Whoa,” he blurted, particularly when my fingers began lightly massaging his fly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think we both know what I’m doing,” I assured Ben as I rubbed my face on his thigh. “Clearly I’m checking the stability of the new stools.”

“Ohh _that’s_ it,” he mumbled, distracted. His body was certainly paying attention to me even if his thought processes were drifting. “Bets . . .”

“I’ve been thinking about this for ages,” I sighed, moving to undo his zipper. “Back when I first saw you in action in the OR. Nurses have dirty minds you know.”

“You’ve show me that, yeah,” Ben managed in a little yelp as I freed his erection. I could tell he had no idea where to put his hands so I used my good one to catch one of his and guide it to my hair. I handed him my glasses to hold in the other one. “Ah, Bets . . . .”

“Here,” I murmured. “I love having mine tugged. I bet you do too.”

He wheezed and I turned my attention to the heavy shaft bouncing against my nose, breathing in the clean musk of him. Ben shifted, and I could tell he was torn between pulling away and letting me continue. To help him decide, I started with a few kisses and gradually worked my way up to much, much more than that, feeling my own desire sharpen at the taste of him. I loved doing this—the degree of trust and control thrilled me and although other women might complain about giving blowjobs, I liked the dynamic a lot.

Ben groaned and rocked and I felt his fingers tangling in my hair—lightly at first and then with increasing desperation until gradually I could feel his cock begin to swell and knew he was on the edge.

I gave a delighted whimper around his shaft and that was enough to set him off in pulsing surges down my throat. A little bitter but nothing terrible; just one more point of intimacy between us. He sagged forward, trying to stay on his feet and wanted to pull himself free of my mouth, but I licked and kissed him clean, giving a little sigh when I finally let Ben slide away from my mouth.

“Jesusssssss . . .” he sighed, and dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around me in the darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hawkeye_

The weirdest part about this thing with Rydersen was that now I was starting to make plans. I don’t normally do that; if it had been up to me the Panama Canal would still be on the drawing board in some cupboard at the National Library. Generally, the furthest ahead I think is Happy Hour but lately I’d been musing about the end of the war and God help me, afterwards.

The original fallback would have been to go home to the Cove, partner up with Dad and get away with what I could. It’s still a solid plan all things considered, with one little tweak to it that involves a certain bespectacled lieutenant now. I cannot tell a lie; visions of Rydersen with me in Maine were starting to become part of my daydreams. I could show her the town, I could show her my childhood home, my childhood bed . . . and several activities on that bed.

And it wasn’t just the bed. Or the sex. I thought about Thanksgiving and Christmas, about what it would be like to show her how to ice skate, and pull in lobster pots. Half the time we were in some rosy Norman Rockwell painting and the other half we were in a private blue movie of my own design, all mingled together like a Dada-esque dream.

Naturally I didn’t say a word about any of this to Rydersen. I wanted to bring up the future, but I wasn’t sure I should until I cleared out the past. Weird too, that after all this time she never asked me much about it, so when I finally got up the courage to talk about Carlye, Rydersen just nodded.

“Makes sense,” she told me. We were perched on one of the boulders just inside the perimeter, catching a little late afternoon sun together.

“What makes sense?” I wanted to know, feeling a little wary now.

“That you’re . . . like a marlin,” Rydersen told me. “Fast, flashy, hits the bait hard. Most of the really big ones have been hooked before so they fight or run. You’re kind of like that too—you still remember the pain of that first hook.”

“Let me get this straight—you’re comparing me to something out of The Old Man and the Sea?” I demanded, irritated and at the same time a little amused.

“It’s a compliment,” she assured me. “You’re a force of nature when you want to be, Ben, and I’m sorry you were hurt so much back then.”

She meant it; I wasn’t sure what to say. 

Then Rydersen looked at me. “Still hurting, huh?”

“No.” but she just looked at me patiently until I sighed. 

“Yes,” I admitted. “Damn it.”

“Okay then,” she told me and pushed up her glasses. “At least you know it.”

“Yeah but . . .” and I struggled to try and say it right, “with you I don’t hurt. Even when we’re mad it’s--I _know_ it’s okay and that throws me for a loop, Bets. It’s not a paradigm I’m used to.”

“Rapport,” she looked up into the sky. “Not something I’m used to either. The last time . . .” Bets stopped and I felt myself chill over.  
“Last time?” I asked and I tried not to sound jealous.

She shot me a sidelong glance. “Ben, I know this will come as a _huge_ surprise, but I’m not a virgin,” Bets muttered in that dry way of hers. “I’m sure you’re shocked.”

“I . . . try not to think about it,” I admitted sourly, “although I did have an inkling, what with your. . . emphatic proclivities.”

“That’s a diplomatic way to put it,” she snickered before shifting to look at me. I liked the way the breeze lifted a few strands of her hair. “But yeah. I had someone before you and I’m working on moving on myself, okay?”

It hurt to hear it. I mean pragmatically it made sense but as I told Rydersen, I didn’t want to think about her with someone else, so hearing the pain in her voice had me irritated.

“Sooo, does this great love have a name?” I asked, trying to be light, even though it was difficult. “Ashley Wilkes maybe?”

“ _Had_ a name. Phillipe. He died. His wife wouldn’t let me go to the funeral so I wrote a note, stole a syringe and an ampoule of morphine but . . .” she shrugged.

Fuck. I sat there staring at her, feeling as if I’d been kicked in the gut.

_Betsy_

I didn’t mean to tell him that way, but I was getting pissed at his snippy facetiousness and honestly, it felt good to see Ben get it.  
Then I immediately regretted my admission. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” I rubbed my shoulder. “Sounds stupid and melodramatic, emphasis on the stupid part.”

“No,” he murmured, still looking dazed and damn it, scared. “No, I kind of deserved that. What . . . made you . . . ?”

“Change my mind? _He_ did,” I blinked, willing myself to stay calm. “He would have been _so_ pissed if I’d done it. He was older, and on the hospital board for Tampa Municipal. We met during my internship and . . . it was mutual from day one. He wanted to marry me but his wife wouldn’t divorce him.”

I could see a thousand questions in his eyes and I was already feeling panic, so I held up a hand. “Phillipe had a bad heart, and I used to tease him that he couldn’t die. Stupid little joke between us because one afternoon he just--dropped dead. No suffering for him, thank God. But me . . . .”

I choked. Tried not to, but now it was out. Ben pulled me into his arms and I shuddered there, getting my courage back. He was warm and strong and I clung to him.

“Shhhhhh,” he told me in a hoarse tone. “S’okay Bets. S’okay.”

I snuffled a bit but I was determined to see it through, so I pulled up after a moment, pulling off my glasses and wiping my face. “Yeah. So I thought about . . . but even as I brought the stuff to my apartment I could hear him in my head, telling me not to, and . . . I didn’t. But three months later I walked into the recruiting office at MacDill.”

Neither of us said anything for a while and I felt . . . skinned. Tender and vulnerable in a way I hadn’t before, not even during the shoulder incident. Ben held me and even as I savored it, part of me wanted to pull away and go hide now that he knew. It took some courage to look him in the face and by then the sun was setting. Time to go back.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Ben told me in that quiet way he has sometimes. “I’m yours. You need me, you got me. For you, house calls—tent calls—whenever.”

“It’s okay.” I corrected myself. “It’s in the past, Ben and I’m not that girl anymore. I told you because . . . .” this was hard but I pushed on, “because I love you and you deserved to know. I may come off as strong but I’ve got cracks too and you are the first person I’ve told . . . ever.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I got that. We cracked people have to stick together. Broken pieces and all.”

We both heard the PA announcing the movie and dinner selections but Ben and I hung onto each other until the first stars came out.

“Still scared?” I asked, because I needed to know.

“Scarred, but not scared,” Ben whispered back. “I think we’re a set.”


	14. Chapter 14

_Hawkeye_

We had a date. As soon as she got back from filling in over at the 8063th, we were set to . . . I don’t think I need to spell it out, right? We’ll just call it THE moment and leave it at that. Let the audience figure it out from the fireplace burning low and the curtains fluttering. Subtle and off-stage as it where. A consummation devoutly to be wished, as Bill Shakespeare would have said.  
So yeah. A date. And in the meantime while we waited for that, I went on a bus to a picnic at the beach and . . . didn’t really have that great a time.

 

In hindsight I guess it was a good thing Rydersen wasn’t there to witness me getting hauled off in a straitjacket to hang out with Sydney for a few weeks, despite my growing tolerance for a little bondage. If I’d had my way I would have kept the whole incident under wraps but when the entire camp has seen you drive a jeep through a building it’s a little hard to keep it a secret. As it was I didn’t see Rydersen for nearly two of those weeks, but Sidney, mental mensch that he is arranged a private dinner date for us in my room under the guise of helping me transition back.  
I wasn’t sure whether to punch him or kiss him; neither would have been progress, I’m sure.

Fuck. This was what terrified me—more than going back, more than being shelled or taking a bullet or having to deal with endless stretchers of waiting, suffering kids . . . this . . . reality with Rydersen. She would finally see me for the damaged goods I am and realize what a crappy deal she’d been stuck with. That she’d be the last in a long line of women I’d desperately loved who’d left me. Pretty insightful, right?

But I didn’t have a choice. Sidney made it a contingency of my release, and pointed out it would be better to deal with it in private than in the full view of the 4077th. He sounded optimistic. Me? Not nearly so sure.

Still, when Rydersen came in and sailed right into my arms with no hesitation, I only froze a second.  
She felt it, but it didn’t stop her from squeezing me harder. “What’s this I hear about you skipping work, you slacker?” she mumbled into the front of my shirt. 

“Hey, HE talked me into it,” I retorted. “Short guy with the Groucho mustache. He’s a troublemaker.”

I felt her shake a little and I hoped it was giggles. “I leave you alone for a few days . . . .” it was a valiant effort but when she looked up at me those glasses of hers magnified how wet her cheeks were. “Ohhhh Ben.”

And right there that made it easier. I was still Ben—not Hawkeye or God forbid, Captain Pierce. _Her_ Ben, so to speak.

“Betsy,” I mumbled back. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked. “Did _you_ start this war and not tell me? Was it you who brought the Army to Korea?”

“No. Sorry for . . . “ I choked, “. . . breaking.”

She held me and I cried. Bets cried too, and afterwards we just sort of clung each other for a while. You’d have thought somebody died. I guess part of me did. Maybe even part of her. Both of us just pieces of all the casualties we’d dealt with including ourselves.

But it felt right and I realized that I didn’t mind. She knew I wasn’t completely sane and apparently loved me anyway. Me, the idiot who was always running his mouth and always running away. There’s something miraculous about that right there.

And a while later she looked up at me. “So. I heard what happened and sometime when you’re up to it you can tell me yourself. For now, I think we ought to have dinner.”

So we did. Bland steamed crap on metal trays . . . I never thought I’d find anything that made the 4077th’s food look good but this paste did. Bets must have felt the same way because she managed a few spoonfuls before giving up and stirring it. 

“This looks like what the monkeys used to throw at the circus visitors,” she mumbled.

“Feels like it too,” I replied, scooping up a mound and drawing a face in it with my finger. “Even the color’s right.”

“When I get back to the states, I’m going to make a cake,” Rydersen told me. “Chocolate, with buttercream frosting. And I’ll eat a slice with my bare hands and lick them clean.”

“I could help,” I offered, feeling a rush in my chest at the image of her with frosting-covered fingers.

“You could,” she agreed, grinning at me, “if you want to.”

_Betsy_

The Major called me. I was nearly done with my TDY and because it was a personal matter the commander of the 8063d was willing to let me go two days ahead of schedule so I flagged a driver and got my ass back to the 4077th as fast as I could, but I just missed Ben being taken away by a few hours, damn it.

Bleak. I’d never seen morale so low or people so shaken. These were professionals who dealt with gore every day of the week and every face I saw was grim. Paula burst into tears when she saw me and I heard the story about how Ben had accused her of smothering a patient even as I held her and let her cry.

The Major and the Colonel sat me down and gave me the full story of Ben’s breakdown from beginning to end. I sat there, picturing it, going cold. Damn it, I knew he’d been under a lot of strain even before we’d met, but this terrified me. I needed to go see him and made the request even as the two of them exchanged a glance.

“Until we hear from Major Freedman, I think we ought to wait,” the colonel rumbled as gently as he could. “Sidney’s the best and he’s known Pierce a long time, Captain. But the minute we get the word, I’ll issue that pass.”

“Sir,” I wanted to argue, but the Major spoke up very quietly instead.

“Captain . . . Betsy, we still have a lot of work to do here while we all wait . . . with you.”

And I nodded, trying not to cry.

The next two weeks were the hardest I’d been through the entire time I’d been in the Army. I started and tore up dozens of letters to Ben and finally settled for writing to Major Freedman instead. I cleaned every 685 machine we had, scrubbing them until they gleamed, and tackled all of the requisition backlog until the box was cleared out. Anything to keep me busy.

All the talk of the ceasefire along with the day-to-day BS sort of flowed around me until the afternoon I heard my name over the PA system, telling me to report to Potter. I was out in a Jeep within twenty minutes, headed for Seoul and feeling like I wanted to throw up because of the tension.

Would Ben let me see him? Was I ready to see him? What if he wasn’t . . . there anymore? I’d seen a few cases of battle fatigue before and they weren’t pretty. 

But when I finally met Doctor Freedman (‘call me Sidney’) I calmed down. Sidney cocked his head and smiled at me. “Congratulations,” he murmured, “so _you’re_ the girl.”

I pushed up my glasses. “Yes sir.”

“Did you really get clawed by a tiger?”

“Yes sir,” I tried not to sound impatient but I was dying to get to Ben.

“Quite a story,” he gestured for me to come with him down a hall. “I’d like to hear it sometime. So, Hawkeye’s almost ready to go back, and you’re the first step in that direction.”

“Go back?” Something of my surprise reached him and Sidney nodded, reluctantly.

“Not only are his surgical skills still sorely needed as we get to the ceasefire, it’s also imperative that he reasserts himself in the setting of his breakdown. We used to call it confronting, but I prefer something less antagonistic. Here we are.”

Sidney opened the door to a room and waved towards it. “I’ll give you both some privacy, but dinner’s in half an hour so we’ll stop by to see if you want it brought here or if you want to come to the dining hall.”

And he walked away, leaving me outside that door.

So I lifted my chin and took a breath, remembering that I liked being in charge, and walked in, right into Ben’s arms, where I belonged.

Not only did we dine in, but I stayed the night. We didn’t do anything; not only were we both exhausted, but the sounds of other patients around us didn’t create that sort of mood. So we stretched out on the bed and talked and stayed quiet together. Every minute felt good, and eventually he sighed the deepest breath I’ve ever heard.

“Bets, would you ask me to marry you?”

“I can’t ask, I _boss_ , remember?”

“I remember.”

“Ben, you’re going to marry me.”

“Yes.”


	15. Chapter 15

_Hawkeye_

It wasn’t easy to go back to the 4077th, but I did. Luckily we got shelled, and had casualties so I didn’t have time to feel awkward what with trying to survive long enough for the war to end. The great thing was that it worked . . . I guess Sidney does deserve his sheepskin. I not only knew what I was doing, but I also knew I could get through the rest of it.

Not perfectly of course, but none of us were getting out without our own scars outside or inside. But I could tell that we’d each carry our time together somewhere. In my case the man who arrived in Korea certainly wasn’t the same one who left. For instance I now had greyer hair, no tolerance for kimchi, and a fiancée. That last one was a bonus, in case you missed it.

Rydersen. Thanks to regulations and other lovely bureaucratic tape we were processed in different stages and kept trying to meet up on the way home, missing each other every few days. I made it to Okinawa when she was in Tokyo; she went to Guam and I had a flight to Hawaii, but we both ended up at the Presidio within a week of each other, caught in the bustle of discharge paperwork. I’ve never signed my name as much as I did that week—felt like a movie star without the lights and fans.

Still, when I checked the huge message board outside the barracks I spotted her note—it was the only one with glasses on it. Rydersen let me know she would be waiting at the Officer’s club every night at 6 for the next week, so I hied myself there within the appointed out and found her standing outside. Threw me for a loop to see her in a skirt, frankly but she always did have the legs for it and the sight of her in high heels did a lot for my libido. Like, more than was safe in public.

“Hellooooo nurse,” I moseyed up to her, waggling my eyebrows.

“So _there_ you are,” she shot right back, grinning. “Having fun playing tag all the way across the Pacific?”

“I’d have let you catch me if only the Air Force had cooperated,” I assured her. “But you know how stuffy those junior birdmen are. You look good.” I tried to downplay that last but she fluttered her eyelashes at me through those glasses and I felt another throb through the old stethoscope. I had it bad for this woman, I really did.

“You do too. Good enough . . .” she leaned closer and I caught a whiff of her perfume, “to eat.”

“Ah geez, I’m already sporting, Bets; don’t torture me like that!” I shifted a little, but I couldn’t help grinning. She slipped her arm through mine and we stepped inside the club.

“Buy me dinner and I can put you out of your misery later.”

“Ooh, I’d say you drive a hard bargain lady, but I think that’s obvious.”

We got a table after a while—apparently the end of the war somehow got out and now they were letting everybody in—and ended up in a little two seater looking out over part of the bay. Almost romantic if you didn’t count the foot traffic into the kitchen we were next to.

What the hell, I was with Rydersen. We could have been in Grand Central Station and I wouldn’t have given a damn. She had her hair down, she was looking at me all wide-eyed, and all of a sudden it hit me that we were engaged. I watched it hit her as well.

“We need drinks,” she told me, and I nodded, waving to a waiter.

“A painfully dry martini for me and the lady will have . . . ?”

“A Sazerac,” she ordered, waving him off again.  
I took a breath and took her hand. “We’re panicking,” I diagnosed brightly. “At the same time.”

“Yep. Getting what you wish for is still taking some getting used to. Want out?”

“Nope,” I told her, “just need a minute here.”

“Me too,” she nodded, still holding my fingers. They felt good, and after a few deep breaths she started giggling. I loved the sound of it; got me snickering too and by the time our drinks showed up, we couldn’t look at each other. I took a deep, fortifying sip, letting it burn the nervousness away.

She sipped hers and tossed her head back, letting out a deep sigh. “Oookay, yeah I’ve missed these.”

“May I?” When Bets nodded, I set my glass down and took hers. Took a sip. Felt my eyes roll a little. “Whoah.”

“Honestly, did you think I’d go for a _girly_ drink at a moment like this?” she asked.

She had me there and I just grinned at her until Bets finally laughed.

“So. What’s the plan, Ben? Because I’ve got a side trip I have to make.”

“Well, I was pretty sure the plan was to take you to Crabapple Cove,” I proceeded cautiously. “Meet the parent, see the town, get married . . . just a few little things like that.”

Bets nodded, “Good, good. Does it have to be the direct route?”

_Betsy_

I wasn’t having second thoughts. Nope, loved Ben wanted to marry him. But being back in the States, around so damned many people, with so much hustle and bustle and luxury . . . that was making me nervous. I thought I was ready to be back in the good old USA, but clearly it was going to take a little time. I could tell it was getting to Ben as well; he flinched every time someone’s conversation got too loud, or a dish clattered.

“Not particularly,” he told me, but he looked wary, so I slid my foot out of my heels and ran it against his leg. Ben perked up at that. “Are you making a pass at me, Captain?”

“Depends . . . did you receive it?” I asked sweetly. I would have said more but the waiter came over for our orders. Without missing a beat we both chose steaks and once the server was gone I continued. “I need to stop through Florida, Ben. See my aunt and settle a few things. Won’t take more than a week, tops.”

“Florida,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “A week?”

“Give or take,” I nodded. “I was thinking of flying into Tampa as soon as the Army lets me go, taking care of stuff and then going north.” I squeezed his fingers reassuringly, and he grinned, dimples showing.

“Want company?”

“I’d love it. See, Florida is hot, especially this time of year. Lots of sun so I’d need a new bathing suit, and even when at night it’s still warm. Most folks barely wear anything to bed.”

“ _Killing_ me here,” Ben growled through a grin. “I think I can handle the scenic route.”

“Good,” I told him, feeling better. “So about the rest of it . . . .”

He cocked his head and looked at me. “You mean the big picture? The future? Because my roadmap’s a little wrinkled on that. Before the war I used to think I wanted to work in a big city like Waterville or Augusta but after the first year in Korea . . . the cove seemed about the right size. My plan was to partner up with Dad and take medicine at a slightly slower pace than blood-spattered breakneck. Maybe open a clinic for the county.”

“Sounds good,” I nodded. “What about me?”

“What _about_ you?” he echoed. “You don’t think Dad and I can be trusted to handle this by ourselves do you? Two Pierces at the helm? Bets---” He leaned closer, giving me one of those rare earnest looks of his. “We’d screw it up. If you think I’m bad at being in charge you have yet to see my old man’s dithering. Trust me; we’re going to _need_ someone to keep an eye on us.”

I pretended to mull it over, but inside I was thrilled. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t have a problem with someone . . . say a woman--bossing you around?”

I meant it as a tease but I could see his gaze smolder a bit, and his Adam’s apple bob.

“No problem with that,” he murmured thickly. “Looking _forward_ to it, actually.”

I loved hearing that, mostly because he meant it, so I gave a slow nod. “Okay then. Let’s have dinner and we’ll see about cutting ourselves loose from this man’s Army. One thing, though . . .”

“Yeah?” Ben glanced at me.

“Before we do, I think you need to take me to bed.”

He blinked, and I watched the slow smile spread across his face, bringing out those dimples I loved. He got it, yes he did. Never let it be said I can’t compromise for the man I love, particularly on our first night together back in the states.

“Well if you’re sure,” Ben drawled, his gaze turning saucy, “we can go back to my place for dessert.”

“Buddy, you’ll BE dessert,” I promised, feeling a rush of love for the man.


	16. Chapter 16

_Hawkeye_

One of the very few perks of being a returning front-line surgeon is that the accommodations are a hell of a lot nicer than those you’ve been working from the last three years. At the moment I had a room with a full-sized bed, an actual dresser and a bathroom I didn’t have to share with anyone unless I wanted to.

Geez, my definition of luxury has changed in the last three years.   
The joy was that now I had time and territory to enjoy Bets in the way both of us deserved, and has I guided her in, that weird combination of lust and tension had me hyperaware of everything: the glow of light on her hair; the hint of her perfume; the way she licked her lips. Here and now my baby was giving me the chance to take charge and all I really wanted was to make it good for her. Doing that would make it good for me . . . sort of two birds with one stone.

She looked over her shoulder at me, waiting. “So?”

“So,” I murmured, “May I undress you?”

Bets seemed to like the idea and let me come up behind her, going for what buttons and zippers I could find. Just pressing up was a thrill, and as more and more skin appeared I slowed down to savor it. The flick of a bra strap; the shimmy of a falling skirt—a man could get addicted to these little victories. To be able to touch without rushing was like a dream, and all that warm bare flesh under my fingertips . . . heaven.

I turned her to face me, undoing the hooks along her spine with deliberate finesse as Bets shivered. Those glasses magnified her baby blues and I know she could feel how . . . enthusiastically I was responding to her au naturale look.

“Now you do _me_ ,” I asked, mostly because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage my own buttons by this point. And it was fun to make the request, frankly. Bets had no problem following through though, and got me in a matching birthday suit fairly quickly. The ever-tricky and unsexy issue of my bootlaces might have put a damper on things but she knelt down and I loved the spill of her pale hair in the lamp light.

Once she’d pulled my boots off she sat back on her haunches and looked up at me . . . I cannot tell a lie, this was the kind of image a guy could get drunk on. No wonder Bets liked being in charge; if it gave you views like this of the person you loved combined with the sensual head-rush . . . Yeah, I could convert to the church of Give and Take. Hell, I’d be head altar boy. 

She slid her hands up my thighs and kept looking up at me until I realized she was waiting for directions. What I wanted to do was to keep looking at her but other parts of me demanded getting in on the action so I leaned down and reached for her glasses, setting them on the nightstand along with my tags and hers before clearing my throat.

“Normally I’d just take us straight to the mattress but,” and I brushed a gleaming strand of her hair back from her cheek, “change of plan.”

“You’re in charge,” she whispered agreeably.

“Let me,” I sighed, “Look at you.”

So Bets rose up and I took my time just studying her. In the last three years I hadn’t had many opportunities see a woman completely naked and believe me, Betsy Rydersen was worth the time. I adored the way she didn’t try to play coy or cover up; she shifted her weight to one hip instead and licked her lower lip as I looked her over. 

“Oh boy,” I managed because most of my blood was not heading north, not by a long shot. Bets turned, giving me an eyeful of glorious tushie as well, and I had to laugh because the urge to sink my teeth into one of those round cheeks was nearly overwhelming. “Yeah, you are a work of art, babe.”

She turned again, facing me, and I reached out for her, pulling her close to nuzzle her stomach, breathing in that perfume of her skin. I kissed her belly button, making her laugh. “Come lie down; plenty more to check out,” I told her. 

And Bets did, letting me get up-close and personal with her collarbones and ribs as I moved down her long frame until I reached that glossy furred mound between her thighs. I’d touched those pretty curls before by God I was ready to do it again, even if I was damned near shaking with lust by this point, caught in that strange moment of shoving back my own desire just to savor hers a little longer.

_Betsy_

Oh he was _good_. I _thought_ he might have what it took—really took—to be in charge but I was going out of my mind with his intensity. Ben’s great at being flippant when he wants, but at other times, like now, his focus was as intimidating as it was sexy. Just watching him hold himself back had my stomach doing somersaults, and the glide of those long talented fingers over my skin . . . 

Damn. It had been a long time since I’d let someone else pleasure me and by the way I was shuddering it wouldn’t take long to drive me over the edge. When Ben told me, “open those knees, Rydersen,” I was embarrassingly quick about it, that’s for sure. 

Shit. Again with those long fingers, soft touches, circling, teasing . . . then he bent and flicked a hot tongue against me and I groaned.

Loudly. 

Ben arched an eyebrow and grinned but I was so hot by then then I couldn’t make any sort of smirk back at him, not flat on my back with his chin brushing my pubic curls. 

“I can’t take much more,” I admitted, my hips wriggling a bit.

“Bet you can,” he smirked, and did it again. And again. Ohhh I was in heaven, especially when those long hands slid around to hold my ass. A few tight hot moments later I howled, my hips grinding up against his face as I came, hard. 

So hard. I was lost for a bit after that, and thank God Ben let me catch my breath because I was still seeing white flashes behind my lids. When I opened my eyes he was definitely grinning. 

“That, ladies and gentlemen was an orgasm for the ages.”

It was too much and I curled up, grabbing his face, deliberately giving him the sloppiest open-mouthed kiss I could. When I pulled back I growled. “Do. Me. NOW.”

We both sort of pounced on each other and it’s a miracle we didn’t tear the condom in the middle of grabbing, kissing, growling and rolling all over that mattress. But once I’d gotten him suited up, I wrapped my legs as high as they could go around his waist and made sure he was lined up.

“Not going to last,” He gasped, but I just grinned.

“Then make it great,” I ordered.

He thrust and both of us groaned loudly.

Despite his worries, Ben put me through an erotic workout that shifted the mattress askew on the box springs and quickly sent me into another brain-melting orgasm. His own was pretty spectacular too, coming on the downside of mine, our growls practically in harmony as I clawed his hard ass.

In the aftermath I discovered that we’d knocked two pictures off the wall, damaged the plaster with the headboard, and sent my glasses and the bedside lamp clattering to the floor but I have never been so thoroughly fucked in all my life. Having him damp, boneless, and nearly snoring as he lay on me was the best sort of blanket, and I clung to him.

“I lost brain cells with that one,” Ben murmured, dazed. “Literally. I came my brains out.”

“Shhhhh,” I mumbled, “you weren’t using them.”

He gave me that ‘oh ha-HA’ face, but stripped off the condom and trudged back from the bathroom a moment later to drop on top of me again.

“Hi. You’re my designated mattress for the evening. Prepare to be jumped on again in about twenty minutes. Any last words?”

“Yes,” I yawned, wrapping my arms around his still-damp frame. “Make it seventeen.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ben yawned back, and pulled me closer as we started to drop off.


	17. Chapter 17

_Hawkeye_

Neither Bets nor I got any extended sleep that night, what with re-engagements happening every ninety minutes or so. In-between erotic thrashings we went comatose, usually all over each other in strange combinations of limbs and torsos, sort of like sexual Picassos across the sheets.

Not that I minded a damned bit. Bets was nicely upholstered in all the right places, and the freedom to be together in the altogether was too good not to take advantage of. I found her ticklish spots, she found mine. Skin to skin therapy: there’s a lot going for it.

In unspoken yet mutual agreement, we stopped sleeping apart from that point. Either her room or mine; we were together every night, much to the dismay of housekeeping and our neighbors in the boq.

The Army did their damnedest to try and keep us both enlisted, offering every perk and pay raise they could throw at us, but neither Bets nor I were interested. I’d had my fill of meatball surgery and Bets admitted she’d had enough of ranks and rules so we took our honorable discharges and caught a flight to Florida. 

Before that, though, we had to go shopping because while I still had a few tropical shirts to my name, I was slacking in the slacks department. Or trousers, if you want to be fashionably accurate, but I also realized that having the freedom to make choices again was a little bizarre. I’d gotten used to a single style—regulation--and a single color—embalmed olive—so the options were overwhelming. 

Thankfully Bets stepped in and made such outrageous suggestions that I was able to choose the decent alternatives and ended up fairly comfortable with the short sleeve button downs and chino trousers. 

Then I saw her grin and figured it out. “These were the ones you _wanted_ me to pick,” I accused.

Bets laughed. “Did you honestly think I’d walk around with you decked out in a baby blue seersucker suit and wingtips, Ben? Not a _chance_ , buddy.”

Had to admit she had me there.

Florida was hot. Not only hot, but muggy. I was going to grouse about it but we rented a convertible for the drive from the airport in Tampa to Gibsonton and that was breeze enough to cut my griping down. That and the bottles of pop. Bets insisted on calling it soda for some reason but it went down nicely and fueled our belching contest.

I won simply because I managed to burp out the first stanza of the Star-Spangled Banner and Bets couldn’t stop laughing. By the time we pulled off Route 41 and onto Mottie Road, which was barely paved I might add, both of us were in a good mood. She directed me to what looked like a farmhouse at the end of a long driveway, and we reached it just as the rain started. It took us a few minutes to get the hood up and dash to the porch, but once we were there I heard baying and someone coming to the door.

The biggest droopiest bloodhound I’ve ever seen outside of an escaped convict movie proceeded to squirm past the screen door and ram a nose into my crotch . . . not really the welcome I’d been expecting.

“Loco, knock it off,” came a woman’s grumble through the doorway as I tried to push away the muzzle of the beast. Bets hooked her fingers through the dog’s collar and pulled him back.

“Yes, he’s male and intact,” she informed the bloodhound. “And I’m the only one allowed to get that personal with him, Locomotive Jones, so stop.” To me she added, “He’s harmless; just likes getting to know people very well.”

“So I gathered. Wish I’d gotten a codpiece.”

Having checked my vitals, the dog gave a gusty sigh and behaved himself—I hoped I’d impressed him. Or at least depressed him.  
Then the woman in the doorway laughed, and I looked at her, taking in my first sight of Bets’ Aunt Genevieve.

Blonde? Check. Curvy? Check. Holding a handful of knives . . . ah, somehow I hadn’t expected that. She beamed at Bets and hugged her, being careful with the points of the blades. “Bet-sy Ba-by Butter-bean!” She yodeled.

From the blinding glare I got from Rydersen, I knew 1) this was a Family Nickname, and 2) despite her unspoken death threat I WOULD use it on her at some point in the future. I smirked back to insure that.

“And you must be . . . Ben,” her aunt said, and something in her tone suddenly put a few things in perspective for me. I looked at her and she gave me a wink--salacious wink with just enough perception to make me blush. “Call me ‘Vive! Come on in, you two, and let’s have a drink,” she offered.

_Betsy_

I should have remembered she’d call me that, but in the excitement of getting back it slipped my mind until I saw Aunt ‘Vive. And of course Ben picked up on it immediately, so I knew I was going to have to nip THAT in the bud pronto. For the moment the joy of seeing my aunt and even dopey Loco kind of overrode everything.

But that’s how it is when you come home I guess. We settled into the living room while it rained and I took one of the towels Aunt ‘Vive offered to dry my hair while Ben took the other one to dry his own. Loco settled down on the floor near Ben’s shoe, apparently comfortable with him already. 

Probably a male bonding thing. 

“So,” Aunt ‘Vive brought in a few beers and set them out, uncapping them gracefully, “Where’s it going to be, darlings?”

“Maine,” I told her, picking up my bottle. Ben looked at both of us, about a step behind the conversation.

“It?”

“The happily ever after of course,” ‘Vive replied. “I kind of figured, since Gibsonton’s not the sort of place for a hotshot surgeon. Although you could probably could set up a good practice in Miami though. Or Tampa.”

“Ah,” Ben muttered. “Can’t say it crossed my mind.”

“You’d be dealing with snowbirds,” ‘Vive smiled. “Rich folks who come down for a warm winter. Could build a lucrative practice.”

I watched him consider the matter but I was pretty sure what he would say. While Ben’s all for capitalism money’s not what drives him, particularly in medicine. It’s funny; he’s a do-gooder under all the bluster, a doctor who practices because he really does want to make the world better one patient at a time.

“I suppose,” he pretended to think it over, “but proctology’s not my specialty and I’ve dealt with enough assholes as it is.”

‘Vive broke out laughing and I snickered; even Loco pricked up his brows at us while Ben just rolled the cold beer bottle between his hands and smiled.

“I can see why she loves you,” ‘Vive told him. “Smart brain, smart mouth. She’s going to have her hands full with you.”

“I already do,” I assured her, “believe me. So do you have the keys?”

She nodded and handed over the ring. They felt familiar and sad in my hand. Ben watched me take them and shifted closer to me for support. He knew of course. Tomorrow we’d go to my parents’ house and take a look at what to have packed and what to store and what to sell. We’d talked about it during the flight and I was glad I wouldn’t be doing it alone or with ‘Vive. 

She would cry more than I would.

I put them away in my pocket and managed a smile. “Okay. So you get only two questions about us, and then Ben can tell you all about himself, which he will, at length.”

He gave me a mock-offended look followed by a grin so it was all right. Aunt ‘Vive settled back into her rocker and looked at us both for a moment. “All right then. Which one of you drove the car?”

“I did,” I murmured, slightly smug. Ben gave a shrug and I noticed he was scratching Loco behind those big silky ears.

“And you had no problem with that?” she asked Ben.

I watched him cock his head, watched him realize that there was a question under the question. He looked at my aunt and then at me, sort of catching on to the undercurrent before he managed a wry grin.

“’Vive, your niece already drives me everywhere, so why should Florida be any different?”

My aunt toasted him with the beer. “Welcome to the family, Ben.”


	18. Chapter 18

_Hawkeye_

The other thing I learned about Florida is that it’s quiet. At least at night, here off the beaten or even paved path. All I heard were crickets, the occasional bark of a dog, and a really faint sound that I realized was the ocean. I had to get used to it; part of me was always waiting to hear that thrum of choppers, especially when everything else was so muted. Bets took me for a walk while her aunt got ready for work. 

“We have to keep an eye out for logs across the road,” Bets said. “If you see one, let me know.”  
“So we don’t trip?” 

“So we don’t get bitten. They’re not logs, they’re gators,” she informed me, “and there are some big ones around here.”

“Shit. _Alligators_?” I looked around wildly but the underbrush along one side of the road looked normal to me.

“I’ll protect you,” Bets snickered. 

“Maybe we should have brought the dog along,” I pointed out, suddenly leery of suspicious shadows in the twilight. I make no apology; all Pierces have a strong sense of self-preservation, particularly against horizontal telephone poles with teeth.

“Loco’s a huge coward; he bays at falling leaves and ladybugs,” Bets slipped her arm through mine. “So Aunt ‘Vive will be gone most of the night.”

“What does she do? Bartending?”

Bets laughed, and shot me a sidelong look. “Noooooo. Figure it out, Ben. Come on; it’s not that difficult.”

“Taxi dancer? Hostess?” I murmured, trying to be euphemistic; I had only a vague idea of what her aunt did for a living, gleaned from past comments and certain proclivities Bets credited her with.

“Little more specialized. Think ‘lady of the evening’ but without the sex.”

Now I was a little confused. “I don’t follow.”   
Bets sighed and turned, stopping us both. “My aunt spends her time with gentlemen who come a long way for her . . . _attention_. Gentlemen with very specific interests that don’t generally culminate in or on mattresses.”

I goggled. I don’t often do that, but this revelation merited it. “Ohh. A _specialist_.”

“Bingo,” Bets nodded, looking pleased. “Lady with whip, or a flogger or hickory stick if that’s your guilty pleasure. Mostly that, a little bossy talk and orders.”

I was still processing all this but it wasn’t nearly as difficult after what we’d been through already. “So you come by it _naturally_ ,” I mused. “A flick off the old whip, so to speak.”

For a moment Bets shot me a glare, but sighed after a moment. “Probably. ‘Vive was the one to give me the birds and the bees talk and she may have been a little biased on matters but it just feels right to me. And she makes pretty good money doing it.”

“Apparently,” I muttered, intrigued. “Jesus, it’s not a post-military career opportunity _you’re_ considering is it? Because while I’m delighted to be your slobbering love-slave, I’d like to keep it a _solo_ affair, frankly.”

Given Bets’ looks, demeanor and curves she’d make a mint but I wasn’t about to share my luscious hell cat with anyone else, oh hell no. My face must have shown it because she gave me a loving smile.

“No, I’m strictly a one-man kind of gal, Ben. Always. I’m just trying to explain . . . ‘Vive. I love her, I owe her and she’s all I’ve got as family right now.”

I took her in my arms, loving the warm press of her skin. “I get it,” I assured her quietly. “And I’m not judging. Not if I can help it, Bets.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “It’s not every guy who can accept a woman like my aunt and what she does for a living. I wanted to tell you before, but I thought it would be easier to meet her first.”

“Well she did have a handful of blades at the time,” I pointed out. “That might have put the average brilliant surgeon off.”

“True,” Bets shrugged, “But it’s Gibsonton; we do weird things here, like knife throwing.”

“So I’m learning.”

Something rattled the underbrush on the other side of the road. Bets listened for a moment and then shook her head. “Raccoon,” she announced.

Then we heard the hissing. Long drawn-out steam engine hissing that put my old cremasteric reflex to work, big-time.

“ _Not_ a raccoon,” I pointed out helpfully as I began to herd her back towards the way we’d come. “ _Move_ it, Ryderson!”

Who knew there were panthers in Florida?

_Betsy_

The house I grew up in was built pre-boom in the Twenties, when a lot of the railroad workers needed housing. That means that while it looks charming, it’s small. My aunt kept it locked up and dusted, but it still had that lonely feel to it when we walked in the next day. I knew there would be a lot of conflicted feelings as I pushed open the front door and I wasn’t wrong.

A good house, lots of great memories here, but it wasn’t a part of my life I could go back to at this point. At least, not for good. Around here I was John and Mable’s girl; the mailman’s daughter, the tiger kid or in other conversations, the niece of That Woman. Everyone knew me or knew of me in one of those contexts and I’d never get away from that, for good or bad. And the truth was that I wasn’t those people anymore. Not after time in Korea. Now I wanted to be the me I really was. 

The one Ben loved.

“Wow,” he broke into my thoughts as he looked around the living room. “I’m getting this vague idea that your mom had a thing for seashells.”

I snickered. Mom had shell-covered picture frames, shell print curtains, scallop edged plates in the china cupboard and a huge display of Florida conchs across the mantelpiece of the fireplace. “What clued you in? Yeah, she was a native Floridian and proud of it.”

“Never would have guessed,” he murmured, picking up one of the conchs. “I like it though. Going to bring any of this with us?”

I nodded. “Yeah. At least the dishes and curtains. Hey, by the way-- where _are_ we going to live up north?”

Ben looked slightly evasive at my question, which only confirmed my suspicions. I waited, watching him fidget until he gave a big gusty sigh. “Probably with my old man. Just for a little while though,” he tried to reassure me. “Until I know whether the Peabody house is sold or not.”

I moved through the kitchen, nodding. “Okay. What’s the Peabody house?”

“Local Crabapple Cove legend. Josiah Peabody was a crabby old sea captain who sank his fortune into three ships and a house. His family blew through the money and the only thing left is the house, which has been on the market since just before the war,” Ben told me as he inquisitively opened the cupboards. “Big place on the edge of town, has its own slice of beach. Always wanted to live there myself.”

“Un-huh. Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?” I prodded his ass, making him jump and grin.

“You mean about it being haunted?”

“Is it?” I was intrigued.

“Nope. It’s just a huge eyesore nobody has the money to repair,” Ben admitted. “Crabapple Cove is a little short on millionaires at the moment.”

“Oh and _we’re_ going to sink money into this thing?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m a returning war hero and I know damned near everyone in town, Bets, not to mention my dad’s the only doctor in a fifty mile radius. If I let on that I might be interested in the Peabody place you can bet the selectmen are going to make sure I get it.”

I whistled, impressed. “You’ve _thought_ about this,” I accused.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” he admitted. “And when I bring home a stunning bride who just happens to be a Veronica Lake lookalike, well let’s just say the contractors are going to have a bidding war on their hands.”

I shook my head, amazed at his cunning. “Not Veronica Lake. Not even a Veronica puddle.”

“All right, a tall Ingrid Bergman then,” Ben countered. “The point is you’re going to knock ‘em dead and I’ll be the lucky bastard they’ll all envy.”

‘For that,” I smiled, “I’m going to show you my old bedroom.”

“Oooh,” came his purr. “Is there a dress code?”

“Certainly. Garden of Eden attire. Very casual,” I purred back, and took his hand to make sure he didn’t get lost.

Slow and meltingly tender. It’s not an afternoon I’ll ever forget, not with the way Ben stretched out and simply let me have my way with him. Just having him naked on my old chenille bedspread was delicious enough, but pinning him down and watching him slowly give in to me had my shivering with pleasure. 

And when I finally knelt over him, taking him slickly between my thighs we both were more than ready for it.


	19. Chapter 19

Epilog

_Hawkeye_

In the end we shipped two crates of goods north by freight, lay out on the beach for a couple of days and took in the sights of Gibsonton— _both_ of them, on the same _day_ even. Quiet little neighborhood but I could tell Bets was ready to move on, especially after packing up the house. 

I bought Bets a rock, too, figuring it was a little overdue, and she got teary when I slipped it on her finger. Two carats, emerald cut according to the guy behind the counter. Bets had ways of communicating that didn’t use words, so let’s just say I was thanked and loved within an inch of my life for a while there. Good times. ‘Vive also treated us to a going-away engagement party and I did my best to polish off as much of the food and booze as I could in between chatting with the trapeze artists and contortionists who attended. Ah civilian life, never change, never let me go again.

It was a toss -up on how to go north but we settled for a flight into Boston and the train up to Augusta. I have no idea why they call them sleeper cars since the two of us didn’t get much sleep. All that slow rocking is catalytic to the libido, frankly, and a lot more fun than checkers.

Dad and Cora met us at the station when the train rolled during the late afternoon and frankly late September never felt so good. Hugging my old man I realized how much frailer he’d gotten but he still managed to squeeze the breath out of me along with a manly tear or two. Cora got her mitts on me too, so I was wheezing by the time I introduced them to my intended and then the hugging started all over again.

I thought I was ready when dad drove us through town but as we did I got a little shaky. Bets put an arm around me and kept asking me questions, keeping me grounded as we passed around the square and over towards Scallop Road.

“Which one’s town hall?”

“Big brick building there with the founding father statues. One time I drew mustaches on them for April first,” I told her, blinking a lot. Geez I had no idea that coming back would hit me like this. 

“Let’s go one better this year and get dresses on them,” Bets suggested. “Something in polka dots.”

Did I mention how much I love this woman? 

*** *** *** 

Turns out the Peabody place was still up for grabs, so we grabbed it. 

Dad had been putting half my paychecks into stocks and half into savings so there was more than enough to buy the place and spruce it up. I left that part to Bets and Cora while I made the rounds of the local hospitals and let them know I was in the neighborhood again, albeit in private practice. Augusta General twisted my arm into a twice a month arrangement so I could keep up my body spelunking skills and offered decent money for it so I said yes.

It took a while to relax. Sidney had told me it would so I knew what I was going through was normal---the nightmares and tensing up whenever I heard loud noises not to mention the absolute hatred of any kind of PA system. How Bets put up with it is beyond me except that she had her own adjustment issues and sleepless nights, usually alternating with mine; very convenient.

Around Halloween we got Vernon Hattersley, our local justice of the peace to marry us with dad, Cora, and Mrs. Hattersley as our witnesses. Took Bets to the Harvest festival in the town square for our honeymoon and introduced her to the joys of apple bobbing, haunted houses and haylofts. 

Afterwards we had the Talk, and it turned out neither of us was ready. Not yet. It was a hell of a relief to know Bets was feeling the same way I was about it. Maybe in a few months, or a year—the point was that we’d give ourselves time to adjust, and get used to being married first.

We did end up with a cat and a dog though. The cat was my fault; I found it half-frozen on the back step of dad’s office and fed it a can of tuna out of pity. Turns out doing that is a blood pact that cannot be broken according to cat law, so Bets and I named him Norman and moved him to the Peabody place in hopes he’d terrorize the squirrels there. Fat chance, emphasis on the ‘fat’ alas: he’s more waddle than warrior. He’s also good company when I’m catching up on medical journals or typing, and I’ve gotten used to his Pillowiness over time.

The dog, though, is totally Bets’ fault.

_Betsy_  
I loved Crabapple Cove. I’d heard Ben talk about it at length, but honestly it lived up to what he’d rhapsodized about in all that rambling and more. Ben’s dad, Daniel was like an older lankier version of him but a whole lot quieter. I think Cora was a little suspicious of me at first, but when she caught us kissing she softened right up, probably dreaming of the babies to come.

She’d have to wait. I’d been putting off the discussion with Ben out of a sense of concern; after all, he’d gone over the deep end because of a baby and I wasn’t going risk setting him back if I could help it. Did I want kids? Yeah, down the line. At the moment just getting back into the swing of civilian life was all that mattered, for both of us.

I think Ben sensed that too, and we bought the Peabody place within the first few weeks. While Cora, Daniel and I started fixing it up, Ben contacted the local hospitals and talked to the county about establishing a clinic between Crabapple Cove and Nobleboro. When Augusta General offered a part-time surgeon position Ben snapped it up and we celebrated by buying a bed that we promptly broke in.

Mind you, we weren’t married yet, even though we were staying with Daniel and Cora while the house got fixed up. After the first weekend it was sort of funny to find all four of us at the breakfast table in our pajamas, sharing different sections of the paper and making comments but it was so like the mess tent that it felt good. 

It was amusing too, the way the women of the town sized me up. I could tell who had taught Ben, who had put up with Ben and who had dated Ben within minutes of meeting any particular one. The two former girlfriends both looked sort of relieved, and the others just gave me sympathetic pats on the arm.

According to the gossip, Hawkeye Pierce was a classic class clown, (true) who hadn’t changed a bit (possibly true) who needed a firm hand, (definitely true) and I was a saint to put up with him. (not really). There were a few good souls like old Lizzie Tremain, the town librarian, who flat out _hugged_ me when she found out I was engaged to Ben.

“That rogue needs somebody with brains,” she told me cheerfully, “someone who can see through his high-jinks to the hero inside. Makes you a damned _special_ lady, Betsy Rydersen!”

That helped. So I got to know people and the town itself. Daniel had me come help him with patients on an informal basis for a while and when Mr. Hattersley came in for a check on his lumbago he shook my hand and murmured, “I’m free next Saturday, around ten or so.”

“Um, that’s nice,” I said, humoring him, but he gave me a dry look.

“You and Benjamin need _marrying_ ,” Mr. Hattersley harrumphed. “I’ll waive my fee. See you then.”

I was a little put off, but Ben told me later that that was as warm as the JP got with anyone and a deal was a deal, so we got married in the Hattersley front parlor that weekend while Cora cried and Daniel took pictures. Evidence, he called them. 

And later, at the fall festival after all the pumpkin carving and pie contests, my new husband lured me into the H-4 barn on evil pretexts that involved hunting for snipes somewhere in his pants. I found something quite a bit larger and had to subdue it under the hay, the two of us trying to stay quiet lest the sheep below give us away.

Ben was the one to bring the topic up, looking at me with that earnest intensity he has sometimes and I blurted out I wasn’t ready. Thank God he admitted he wasn’t either, and we laughed and cried a little together, somehow more connected than ever before. Yes, but not right now—that was our decision. We still needed time to settle in ourselves.

And it was good. Later in the week bossed him around enough to insure he left the house in a great mood and in return Ben encouraged me to accept the position as school nurse to the local elementary. That’s where the notice on the staff bulletin board offered up one (1) pedigreed Boston Terrier, quote “free because he’s a little shit.”

Who could pass on a deal like that? So we ended up with Norman and Rockwell, which sums up our lives in a lot of ways. It’s good. I’m looking forward to Christmas, and New Years’ and the whole cycle of the year; looking forward to loving Ben and being loved by him in return. We’ll never lose our memories of Korea, but we can deal with them together. I’ve got Ben and he’s got me and whatever else comes along, we’ll be face it side by side.

And that’s what matters the most. I’ve got someone to love who loves me too—what satin bitch could ask for anything more?

end


End file.
